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JOHN GREEXLEAF WHITTIER 



SNOAV-BOUND 

AND OTHER EARLY POEMS 



OF 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

;Ei;)ITED 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 

BY 

AKCHIBALD L. BOUTON, M.A. 

PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC IN NEW YORK UNIVERSITY 



Weto gork 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1908 

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Copyright, 1908, 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1908. 



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Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION : pace 

Whittier's Life and Work xi 

Bibliography xxv 

POEMS : 

Proem 1 

Snow-bound ......... 3 

Songs of Labor : 

1. Dedication 28 

2. The Shipbuilders 30 

3. The Shoemakers 32 

4. The Drovers 35 

5. The Fishermen 39 

6. The Huskers 42 

7. The Corn-song 45 

8. The Lumbermen 47 

BALLADS AND NAPvRATIVE POEMS: 

Cassandra South wick ....... 52 

Funeral Tree of the Sokokis 61 

Pentucket 65 

The Exiles 68 

The Angels of Buena Vista 77 

Barclay of Ury 81 

The Legend of St. Mark 86 

vii 



Vlll CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Kathleen 89 

Tauler 93 

Maud Muller 96 

The Ranger 100 

Proem to Home Ballads 106 

The Witch's Daughter 106 

The Garrison of Cape Ann 114 

Skipper Ireson's Ride 120 

Telling the Bees 124 

The Sycamores 126 

The Double-headed Snake of Newbury .... 131 

The Swan Song of Parson Avery 134 

The Truce of Piscataqua 138 

My Playmate . 145 

The Gift of Tritemius 148 

The Pipes at Lucknow 149 

The Red River Voyageur . . . . . . . 152 

Barbara Frietchie 154 

Cobbler Keezar's Vision 156 

Amy Wentworth ........ 163 

The Countess 169 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS: 

The Frost Spirit 175 

Randolph of Roanoke 176 

The Norsemen 180 

Forgiveness 184 

What the Voice Said 185 

Extract from "A New England Legend" . . . . 188 
Hampton Beach . . . . . . . . .190 

The Hill-top 198 

Memories 196 



CONTENTS IX 

PAOE 

Ichabod 198 

All's Well 200 

Seed-time and Harvest 200 

To A. K 201 

Moloch in State Street 204 

April 207 

The Poor Voter on Election Day 208 

To My Old Schoolmaster 209 

Burns ........... 215 

The Voices 220 

The Hero 223 

The Barefoot Boy 227 

The Kansas Emigrants . . . ... . . 230 

Song of Slaves in the Desert 231 

The Last Walk in Autumn 233 

The Mayflowers 242 

The Eve of Election 243 

My Psalm 247 

Thy Will be Done 249 

The Battle Autumn of 1862 251 

Our Kiver 252 

Laus Deo 255 

NOTES 259 



INTRODUCTION 



WHITTIER'S LIFE AND WORK 

Early Life. Literary Beginnings, 1807-1833. — John 
Greenleaf Whittier, the Quaker poet of New England, 
who shares with Longfellow the distinction of being 
in a national sense, the most widely accepted and 
beloved of American poets, was born in Haverhill, 
Massachusetts, on December 17, 1807. He was de- 
scended through several generations of Quaker ances- 
tors on both his father's side and his mother's. Thomas 
Whittier, his first American ancestor, himself not a 
Quaker though in strong sympathy with them, came to 
America in 1638. In 1647 he moved to the farm, three 
miles from Haverhill, which has ever since been known 
as the Whittier homestead. Here he built in 1688, 
it is supposed, the house, still standing, which is com- 
memorated in Snow-Bound. In it the poet was born, 
the second of four children, to John and Abigail Whit- 
tier. 

Life upon the Whittier farm was of great simplicity. 
Not over thirty books, mostly religious, constituted 
the family library; but chief among them was the 
Bible. Of social life outside the little that lay within 
the walls of the home, the church, and the country 
school, there was almost none. Of spelling -schools 

zi 



xii INTRODUCTION 

and singing-schools, of debating societies and lyceums, 
the usual diversions of New England rural life, at least 
at a slightly later period, we find few beginnings in the 
life of the Whittier family. Hard work upon a reluc- 
tant soil, with few comforts and no luxuries, were abiding 
characteristics; but animating all was the inspiration 
of a profound, if sectarian, religious faith; underlying 
it was the Quaker love of freedom and the Puritan 
belief in the equality of all men before the law; while 
from the pages of Snow-Bound we know that there 
was no lack of zest in such simple pleasures as life 
in the Whittier homestead made possible. 

With one important exception, Whittier's formal 
education was summed up in a few winters in the 
district school. When he was fourteen the teacher 
brought to Whittier's home one evening a book of 
Burns's poems and read them to the family. It was the 
awakening of the boy's soul. Later a Scotch pedlar 
introduced him to the charm of the true Scotch ver- 
nacular. Soon he began to compose verses of his own. 
His older sister, Mary, by stealth and without the boy's 
knowledge, sent one of his poems to Newburyport, 
near by, to a weekly newspaper, which was then edited 
by William Lloyd Garrison, soon to become famous as 
leader of the Abolitionist movement against slavery. 
The poem was published in the issue of June 8, 1826, 
and Whittier in a daze of astonishment saw his work in 
print for the first time when the mail carrier threw a 
copy of the paper to him as he worked by the roadside 
helping his father repair a stone wall. In a few days 
Garrison himself, struck with the promise of the poem, 
came to the house to see young Whittier. It was the 
turning-point in the boy's career. 



INTRODUCTION Xlll 

The next winter he attended the Haverhill Academy, 
and, while he lived in the home of the editor of the 
Haverhill Gazette, earned his way by making slippers at 
eight cents a pair ; ending the six months in Haverhill 
Academy with twenty-five cents in his pocket, precisely 
as at the beginning of the winter he had planned to do. 
His contact with Garrison and with the editor of the 
Haverhill Gazette gave him the opportunity to write 
for the press. Through Garrison's intercession he 
obtained a staff position on the American Manufac- 
turer, published in Boston. This was the first of a 
series of editorial positions which he occupied with 
slight intermission during the ten years from 1830 to 
1840, until failing health caused him permanently to 
resign all regular work of a routine sort and retire to a 
home at Amesbury, where he dwelt in quiet but not in 
idleness for the remainder of his days. Whittier, early 
in the period of his editorial activities, developed much 
political talent, and nourished high political ambitions. 
It is probable that he would at an early period have been 
elected to Congress had he not chosen to ally himself 
with the Abolitionists in their antagonism to slavery. 

The Antislavery Period, 1833-1861. — This act of 
choice and renunciation, crucially determined by the 
deliberate publication, in 1833, of a prose pamphlet, 
entitled Justice and Expediency, or Slavery consid- 
ered with a View to its Abolition, constituted the sec- 
ond great turning-point in Whittier's career. In com- 
mon with many leading men of Massachusetts he had, 
before then, not without vigor, opposed slavery as an 
institution. As early as 1831 he had contributed to 
Garrison's paper, The Liberator. But before 1833 he 
had opposed slavery in more or less an extra-political 



XIV INTRODUCTION 

way. Men at that time were, in general throughout 
the country, extremely anxious to keep slavery out of 
politics. Abolitionism was, even in New England, vio- 
lently unpopular. To oppose slavery was very well as 
a matter of moral principle; to exalt abolition into a 
principle of political action was a very different thing. 
It genuinely threatened the national safety — as the 
subsequent Civil War sufficiently proves. So long as 
Whittier did not propose political action against slav- 
ery, his immediate party associates acquiesced in such 
principles as he held. But Whittier was a Quaker; 
and that meant, in this period of his life, not so much 
love of peace and quiet as it did hatred of all that con- 
tradicted the right of anybody to liberty,— hatred of 
slavery. All the stored-up memories of the persecu- 
tion and tyranny and martyrdom to which Quakers had 
been subjected in the seventeenth century in both the 
Old and New England were, it would seem, inherited 
by Whittier, and the second great period of his life com- 
mencing with the publication of the pamphlet men- 
tioned, and the adoption of abolition as a principle of 
political action, began with the deliberate renunciation 
of a bright political future and the adoption of an un- 
popular propaganda. But he never regretted the act. 
When he was an old man he gave this advice to a boy 
of fifteen, " My lad, if thou wouldst win success, join 
thyself to some unpopular but noble cause." 

In 1836 he went to Philadelphia and continued there 
until 1840, being after 1837 editor of the Pennsylvania 
Freeman. During much of the same period he was sec- 
retary of the American Antislavery Society, and began 
then to contribute lyrics against slavery to The National 
Era, of Washington, D.C. It was in this paper that 



INTRODUCTION XV 

Mrs. Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin first appeared. In 
1838 his editorial offices were raided and burned by a 
mob; but Whittier, disguised in a wig and long coat, 
entered his own office, along with the mob that would, 
upon recognizing him, probably have taken his life, and 
was able thereby to save many of his papers. Nor was 
this his only experience with mob peril. In New Eng- 
land, later, he narrowly escaped being tarred and 
feathered, and was often in danger of assault. Brave 
and determined as an agitator, and bitter as was the 
great controversy in which he was engaged, Whittier 
never lost a certain magnanimity which enabled him to 
yield sympathy and admiration to fine qualities in his 
opponents. To Calhoun he paid the tribute of deep 
respect, and his commemorative poem, John Randolph 
of Roanoke, is conceived in a finely generous spirit. Agi- 
tator as he was, he possessed, moreover, a certain poise, 
a breadth of vision in which Garrison and Phillips and 
his other Abolitionist partisans were generally lacking. 
So at length it came to pass that in spite of his affilia- 
tion with the Abolitionists his influence as a political 
counsellor of some of the leading statesmen of the day 
was very great — immensely greater than his actual posi- 
tion as a partisan would seem to indicate. Properly to 
estimate his political services, however, one other factor 
needs consideration. 

Whittier's poetic talent was by no means rusting. 
From 1829 to 1832 he had published one hundred 
poems. In 1831 most of them with a few prose sketches 
were gathered into a pamphlet under the title, Legends 
of New England in Prose and Verse, and published. 
Five years later he published his first book, Mogg 
Megone, a long narrative poem somewhat in the style 



xvi INTRODUCTION 

of Scott. In his later years the poet wished to suppress 
these earher writings, and few lovers of Whittier now read 
them. All this work was merely a training for better 
things which he was already beginning to do. For 
twenty years, and in considerable measure for thirty, 
Whittier's poetic power was at the service of his great 
political and moral aim, the abolition of slavery. The 
human sympathy, the sincerity, the arousing force of 
these antislavery lyrics, these Voices of Freedom, made 
them political weapons, better than arguments, and per- 
haps second only to Uncle Torn's Cabin in actual influ- 
ence in swaying popular opinion against slavery. James 
Russell Lowell, certainly no mean judge, sums up Whit- 
tier's political work in these words: "Whenever occa- 
sion offered, some burning lyric flew across the country, 
like the fiery cross, to warn and rally. Never mingling 
in active politics (unless filling the office of presidential 
elector [in 1860 and 186 J/] may be called so), he probably 
did more than anybody in preparing the material out of 
which the Republican party was made." 

Whittier's retirement from routine life in 1840 had 
several important results; but chiefly, while cutting 
off any prospects of political advancement, it gave lei- 
sure for the broader development of his artistic nature. 
It brought time for reading, whereby he broadened his 
culture; and it gave quiet moments in which his imagi- 
nation could build its fabric out of legend and memory, 
dream and faith — materials truer and more flexible to the 
poet's hand than the elements of political controversy. 
After the appearance of Voices of Freedom in 1846, and 
its rendition in 1849, a 'distinct change gradually ap- 
pears in the subject-matter of Whittier's poetry. By 
the outbreak of Civil War he had almost ceased writing 



INTRODUCTION XVll 

with reference to its great cause. Yet during the years 
from 1850 to 1861 he pubhshed some of his most popu- 
lar and a little of his best work: in 1850, the Songs of 
Labor, in which many deem him most truly a national 
poet; later, a group of ballads of New England life, 
of which Maud Muller and Skipper Ireson's Ride are 
familiar and typical examples; and besides these a con- 
siderable quantity of miscellaneous poems, a few of 
which, like The Barefoot Boy and The Pipes of Luck- 
710W, are included in the strictly limited group of poems 
that "every schoolboy knows." 

The Last Period, 1861-1892. — The Civil War once 
begun, Whittier seemed to feel that the struggle against 
slavery had passed into other hands. Quaker as he 
was, he did not however oppose the w^ar. His occasional 
patriotic lyrics were exhortations to faith in the na- 
tional destiny, or expressions of rejoicing in triumph of 
the Union armies — expressions that found their mag- 
nificent culmination in Laus Deo, written in 1865, when 
the unity of the nation was secure. Save for these 
flashes of the old fire of conflict, Whittier's spirit passed 
into the calm of contemplation and reflection. Of ex- 
ternal episode the long, serene afternoon of his life con- 
tained but little. His younger sister, Elizabeth, wdth 
whom he made his home at Amesbury, died in 1864. 
It was the breaking of a peculiarly tender tie. After 
the stress of antislavery conflict, and thus bereft of his 
dearest companionship, he found rest and restoration in 
nature, in religion, and in literature; the love of nature 
and religious faith are the deepening notes of the poetry 
of this final and best period which in duration included 
more than one-third of his long lifetime. A wider 
familiarity with literature manifested itself in a broaden- 



xvill INTRODUCTION 

ing range of subjects, and a greater command of allu- 
sion. A growing attention to problems of poetic tech- 
nique improved the artistic quality of his verse, and 
widened somewhat his command of poetic forms. Yet 
he continued to the end essentially a poet of the simple 
ideals of the common life he knew best, and expressed 
them in simple ways. In The Last W alk in Autumn, a 
poem written in 1857, occurs this stanza, which em- 
bodies a sort of prophetic interpretation: — 

" Yet, on life's current, he who drifts 
Is one with him who rows or sails; 
And he who wanders widest lifts 

No more of beauty's jealous veils 
Than he who from his doorway sees 
The miracle of flowers and trees, 
Feels the warm Orient in the noonday air, 

And from cloud minarets hears the sunset call to prayer." 

Snow -Bound, written in 1865, is the most successful 
of his more elaborate works. The Tent on the Beach 
(1867) was a group of associated poems strung together, 
much as Longfellow composed his Tales of a Wayside 
Inn. Among the Hills (1869) began in the thought of 
composing a summer idyl to correspond with Snow- 
Bound as a winter idyl, but as its composition progressed 
Whittier found his material intractable, and the poem, 
pleasing as it is, will not bear the suggested comparison. 
In 1866 Whittier's prose works, of which there is a con- 
siderable body consisting mainly of criticisms of men 
and books, and discussions of slavery, and of various 
political and social reforms, were for the first time gath- 
ered into an edition of two volumes. Three years later 
the first edition of his collected works was completed 
by the addition to his prose works of three volumes of 



INTRODUCTION xix 

poems. But afterward between 1869 and 1892 Whit- 
jtier published not less than eleven volumes of poems, 
'mostly slender books, but in their total adding much 
to the final complete edition of his works. Besides his 
original work, Whittier at various times in his life did 
much as an editor of the writings of others. A bibli- 
ography of his labors in this field is added to the 
general list of his publications given at the end of this 
Introduction. 

In his later years, and especially after Longfellow's 
death in 1883, Whittier became in some sense the Poet 
Laureate of America. In 1876 he was invited to write 
the Centennial Hymn for use at the opening of the 
Philadelphia Exposition. And from that time on he 
entered more and more deeply into the affections of his 
countrymen. His seventieth birthday was marked by 
a special gathering of eminent fellow-citizens to do 
him honor. His eightieth was observed by exercises 
in the public schools far and wide throughout the coun- 
try, and by the presentation to him of many tributes of 
appreciation and affection. A few years before his 
death he removed from Amesbury to Danvers, Massa- 
chusetts, which continued to be his home until the end. 
He died at Hampton Falls, New Hampshire, on Sep- 
tember 7, 1892, and was interred at Amesbury. His 
last poem, written but a few weeks before, was com- 
posed in honor of the eighty-third birthday of Oliver 
Wendell Holmes. 

His lifetime covered eighty-five years. It included 
the most stirring portion of our national history, a 
truly great part in which Whittier played. Great as 
was his service to political history, it is the gentle 
Quaker poet of the later years, the lover of nature, of 



XX INTRODUCTION 

his own New England, the man of serene faith, who is 
secure in the abiding remembrance of his countrymen. 
The contemporary of Lowell and Longfellow, of Holmes, 
Poe, and Emerson, of Bryant and Whitman and Lanier, 
of all the poets that, till now, have best served our 
national literature, excelled by m.any of them in some 
distinctive power or charm, he yet seems in a certain 
simplicity of character and nobility of moral and 
spiritual stature to surpass them all. 

Whittier's Poetry. — As a poetic artist, Whittier, it 
will be seen from the story of his life, underwent a long 
evolution. Many poets do their best writing in early 
life. Few men have the kind of vitality which goes on 
unfolding and perfecting itself far into advancing age. 
Whittier, like Tennyson, was of the number. His ear- 
liest work was imitative and crude, — imitative chiefly 
of Scott, and crude to the point where Whittier would 
gladly have excluded almost all of it from his later edi- 
tions. His antislavery poems hold a higher place, and 
yet few even of them are familiar to the present genera- 
tion. They were animated by intense hatred of a living 
national wrong, against which Whittier, like a Hebrew 
prophet, hurled blazing lyrical invectives. They were 
direct, simple, and impassioned in their earnestness. 
Directness, earnestness, fire, were native to him, and 
these qualities chiefly he embodied in the antislavery 
lyrics. But poetry at its best is the product of the imagi- 
nation; and the imagination weaves its best in hours of 
quietness, and in scenes aloof from the stress of prac- 
tical affairs. Seldom are political crises, however acute, 
however awakening of the highest powers of mankind, 
immediately productive of much of what, in the re- 
stricted sense of the term, we call literature. Though 



INTRODUCTION xxi 

i 

surely inspiration was not wanting, the stimulus of our 

I Civil War to creative literature was remarkably slight. 
The struggle was too desperately practical, too much a 
matter of national life and death. Poetry written at 

, white heat, to serve the interests of principle in the hour 
of conflict, may flame from soul to soul, and wonderfully 
influence the result of the hour; but when the heat of the 

' hour has passed, such poetry is seldom found to possess 
that timeless, enduring vitality which insures its per- 
manence in the hearts of the people, after the circum- 
stances which gave it birth have been forgotten. Whit- 
tier's antislavery lyrics, inspiring as they were and 
important historically as they are, stand to-day, in spite 
of many stirring passages, in danger of being forgotten 
because they are too closely connected with an issue 
which has passed out of mind. Artistically the period in 
which they were written is one of transition. In the 
heat of conflict, Whittier schooled his art and acquired 
his technique. But it was not a school in which to gain 
breadth of view, or variety of resource, or subtlety of 
magic, or perfection of phrase. 

However, in the period after 1850, and yet more after 
1861, there was, as already noted, aside from the 
waning of political lyric, a considerable widening of 
poetic range. So far did this extension of his choice of 
subject-matter continue that in the collected edition 
of 1889, containing Whittier's last revision of his whole 
work, he classified his poems, according to their con- 
tent, into eight general groups: poems narrative and 
legendary; poems of nature; poems subjective and 
reminiscent; religious poems; antislavery poems ; songs 
of labor and reform; personal poems; and occasional 
poems. This classification, no doubt, possesses a cer- 



xxu INTRODUCTION 

tain validity; yet it must be admitted that a few char- 
acteristic elements, especially the poetry of nature and 
of religion, are so pervasive of all his work that his as- 
signment of a poem to a given group often seems rather 
arbitrary. In general, the choice of subject-matter 
and the method of treatment are not sharply discrimi- 
nated into more than three or four of the eight groups 
which he has employed. In the field of narrative, by 
far his best poems are ballads, like Skipper Ireson's Ride 
and Barbara Frietchie. In many of his narrative poems 
want of compression often seriously diminishes their dra- 
matic force. The religious motive is everywhere present 
in Whittier's poetry, as it was in his life. In the anti- 
slavery days it was the soul of his poetry for freedom; 
in his bereft age his unclouded faith gave cheer and 
serenity to his declining strength; it inspired Our Mas- 
ter and The Eternal Goodness, than which no poems 
hold a higher place in the religious poetry of America. 
From them have been taken several of our finest hymns. 
''The Bible," says Mr. Stedman, ''is rarely absent from 
his verse, and its spirit never." As much, almost, may 
be said for the love of nature in the poetry of the later 
period. Snow- B ound SiSSitypicsd instance, while essen- 
tially a reminiscent poem, and deeply religious, ex- 
presses as well Whittier's inmost feeling for nature. And 
just as his later poetry expresses religious faith in its 
serenity, so the moods of nature which affect him most 
deeply are those of his own New England valleys and 
hills, its rivers and its ocean shore in their hours of 
quiet beauty. 

It would be natural to attribute certain obvious de- 
fects and limitations in Whittier's verse to his scant 
educational training — a training that, in spite of the 



INTRODUCriON xxiii 

broad reading of his later years, was never perfected. 
Of his methods of work, he himself says: '' I never had 
any methods. When I felt like it, I wrote, and I had 
neither the health nor the patience to work over it 
afterward. It usually went as it was originally com- 
pleted." His verse is far from technical perfection, 
even in his best period. His rhymes are often seriously 
at fault. He never wrote blank verse well, nor did he 
ever stray very far from three or four metrical forms 
in which he had acquired freedom and confidence. 
He never learned to concentrate his effects in the small- 
est number of lines; and oftentimes the undue length 
of a poem serves effectually to bury from the casual 
reader exquisite lines and stanzas. Much interest in 
respect of the technical qualities of their verse will 
attach to comparison of Whittier's work with Long- 
fellow's, when the two have chosen a similar subject; 
as Whittier's The Shipbuilders with Longfellow's 
The Building of the Ship. Though it would be natural 
to explain defects of the sort mentioned by the limita- 
tions of Whittier's early training, the real explanation 
probably lies deeper. Burns, probably, had no better 
educational opportunities than Whittier. The posses- 
sion of a powerful intellect, and of a strong creative 
imagination, are requisite to the greatest poetry. Most 
lovers of his poems will probably admit that Whittier's 
real shortcomings lay here, and also in his lack of 
humor. But great poetry and great poets are not 
very common, in America or elsewhere; and in the im- 
passioned moral regret of Ichabod, it is possible that 
Whittier touched a single pinnacle of real poetic great- 
ness. 
Whittier's place in the Hall of poetic Fame is secure. 



xxi V IN TROD UCTION 

Better far, so too is his place in the hearts of the people. 
Like Longfellow he is a poet of the people, a poet of the 
ideals of common life. To its turmoil and strain he 
brings a message of simplicity and calm. From a world 
of material aims his verse recalls us to a pure and beau- 
tiful life of the spirit. He speaks with a manly vigor 
and directness, and persuades by his deep sincerity and 
simple charm. In his poetry are no subtleties of argu- 
ment, no obscurities of remote meaning. He troubles 
us with no melancholy doubts, and seeks to force upon 
us no mere reasonings of an abstract philosophy. Yet by 
his simple and true standard of life, his love of nature 
and humanity, his hatred of wrong, he makes an appeal 
to all who love righteousness and the joys of peaceful 
living that should never in America be overlooked, and 
cannot be forgotten. We can believe that Whittier 
would have cared but little for criticisms of himself 
merely as a poetic artist. More than artist in letters 
he was above all a poet with a conscious message — a 
message not to New England only, but for America, 
and, we may believe, for all who speak the English lan- 
guage. That message, grounded in the simple but endur- 
ing essential faiths of a universal humanity, he sang 
worthily and honestly, without thought of reward, and 
with a potency that makes him one of our two most- 
loved poets. Because of his manly and effective grap- 
pling with the great peril and curse of his time, and by 
reason of the native elevation of his character, his is 
perhaps the most noble personality among American 
men of letters. 



WHITTIEE'S WORKS. A BIBLIOGRAPHY 



VERSE 

1831. Legends of New England. (Prose and Verse.) 

1832. Moll Pitcher. 

1836. Mogg Megone. 

1837. Poems written during the Progress of the Abolition 

Question in the United States, between the years 
1830 and 1838. 

1838. Poems. Published by Joseph Healy, Philadelphia. 

1843. Lays of My Home, and Other Poems. 

1844. Miscellaneous Poems. 
1846. Voices of Freedom. 

1849. Poems. (A collection of Whittier's poems against 

Slavery.) 

1850. Songs of Labor, and Other Poems. 

1853. The Chapel of the Hermits, and Other Poems. A 
Sabbath Scene : A Sketch of Slavery in Verse. 

1856. The Panorama, and Other Poems. 

1857. The Sycamores. 

1860. Home Ballads, Poems and Lyrics. 

1863. In War Time, and Other Poems. 

1865. Snow-bound. 

1867. National Lyrics. 

The Tent on the Beach, and Other Poems. 

1869. Among the Hills, and Other Poems. 

1870. Ballads of New England. 

1871. Miriam, and Other Poems. 

1872. The Pennsylvania Pilgrim, and Other Poems. 

1874. Mabel Martin, and Other Poems. 

1875. Hazel Blossoms. 

1878. Vision of Echard, and Other Poems. 

1880. Complete Poetical Works. Republished in London. 

1881. The King's Missive, and Other Poems. 

1883. The Bay of Seven Islands, and Other Poems. 

XXV 



XXVI BIBLIOGRAPHY 

1886. Poems of Nature. 

Saint Gregory's Guest, and Recent Poems. 
1892. At Sundown. (Privately printed, 1890.) 

Complete editions of Whittier's poems were published 
during the poet's lifetime, in 1857, 1869, 1874, 1876, 1880, 
1881, 1885, 1889. 

PROSE 

1833. Justice and Expediency : or, Slavery considered with 
a View to its Rightful and Effectual Remedy. Abo- 
lition. 

1845. The Stranger in Lowell. 

1847. The Supernaturalism of New England. 

1849. Leaves from Margaret Smith's Journal. 

1850. Old Portraits and Modern Sketches. 
1854. Literary Recreations and Miscellanies. 
1866. Prose Works, collected in two volumes. 

1870. Two Letters on the Present Aspect of the Society of 
Friends. (London.) 



WORKS EDITED BY WHITTIER 

1832. Literary Remains of T. G. C. Brainerd. Biographical 

Sketch by Whittier. 
1837. Views of Slavery and Emancipation : selected from 

Harriet Martineau's Society in America. 
1837. Letters from John Quincy Adams to his Constituents. 

With Preface and two anti-slavery poems by Whittier. 

1840. The North Star; the Poetry of Freedom, by her Friends. 

1841. Joseph Sturge's "A Visit to the United States in 1841." 
1836. The Patience of Hope. By Dora Greenwell. Edited, 

with an Introduction, by Whittier. 

1871. Child Life, a Collection of Poems. Edited by Whittier. 

1872. The Journal of John Woolman. Introduction by 

Whittier. 
1874. Child Life in Prose. Edited by Whittier. 
1876. Songs of Three Centuries : an Anthology. 
1880. William Lloyd Garrison and his Times. Introduction 

by Whittier, 



BIBLIOGRAPHY XXV 11 

1883. Letters of Lydia Maria Child. Introduction by Whittier. 
1887. American Literature and Other Papers, by E. P. Whipple. 
With Introductory Note by Whittier. 

Complete editions of Whittier' s works in prose and poetry 
were published during his lifetime, in 1886-1869 and 1888-1889. 



BIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM 

Biography : Life and Letters of John Greenleaf Whittier (2 vols.), 
by Samuel T. Pickard; Life, by G. R. Carpenter 
(American Men of Letters Series); Life, by W. J. 
Linton (Great Writers Series). 

Criticism: Poets of America, by E. C. Stedman; A Literary 
History of America, by Barrett Wendell; A Fable 
for Critics, by James Russell Lowell. 

Abundant references to criticisms of Whittier in periodical 
literature may be found in Poole's Index of Periodical Litera- 
ture, especially for the year 1892. 



PKOEM^ 



I LOVE the old melodious lays 
Which softly melt the ages through, 
I The songs of Spenser's ° golden days, 

^ Arcadian Sidney's ° silvery phrase, 

Sprinkhng our noon of time with freshest morning dew. 5 

Yet, vainly in my quiet hours 
To breathe their marvellous notes I try ; 

I feel them, as the leaves and flowers 

In silence feel the dewy showers. 
And drink with glad still lips the blessing of the sky. 10 

The rigor of a frozen clime. 
The harshness of an untaught ear. 

The jarring words of one whose rhyme 

Beat often Labor's hurried time, 
Or Duty's rugged march through storm and strife, are 

here. 15 

Of mystic beauty, dreamy grace, 
No rounded art the lack supplies; 

Unskilled the subtle lines to trace, 

Or softer shades of Nature's face, 
I view her common forms with unanointed eyes. 20 

B 1 



2 PROEM 

Nor mine the seer-like power to show 

The secrets of the heart and mind ; 

To drop the plummet-hne below 
Om' common world of joy and woe, 

A more intense despair or brighter hope to find. 25 

Yet here at least an earnest sense 
Of human right and weal is shown; 

A hate of tyranny intense, 

And hearty in its vehemence, ,^ 

As if my brother's pain and sorrow were my own. 30 

Freedom, if to me belong 

Nor mighty Milton's gift divine. 

Nor Marveirs° wit and graceful song, 
Still with a love as deep and strong 

As theirs, I lay, like them, my best gifts on thy shrine ! 35 

Amesbury, Wth mo., 1847. 



SNOW-BOUND 

A WINTER IDYL 

TO THE MEMORY OF 

THE HOUSEHOLD IT DESCRIBES 

This Poem is Dedicated by the Author 

" As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits which 
be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the Divine Ught of the Sun, but 
also by our common Wood Fire: and as the Celestial Fire drives away dark 
spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the same." — Cor, Agrippa, Occult 
Philosophy, Book I., ch. v. 

" Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, 
Arrives the snow; and, driving o'er the fields, 
Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven, 
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. 
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the house-mates sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm," — Emerson. 

The sun that brief December day 
Rose cheerless over hills of gray, 
And, darkly circled, gave at noon 
A sadder light than waning moon. 
Slow tracing down the thickening sky 5 

Its mute and ominous prophecy, 
A portent seeming less than threat, 
It sank from sight before it set. 
A chill no coat, however stout, 
3 



4 SNOW-BOUND 

Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, lo 

A hard, dull bitterness of cold, 

That checked, mid-vein, the circling race 

Of life-blood in the sharpened face, 
The coming of the snow-storm told. 
The wind blew east ; we heard the roar e i^' 

Of Ocean on his wintry shore. 
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there 
Beat with low rhythm our inland air. 

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, — 

Brought in the wood from out of doors, 20 

Littered the stalls, and from the mows 

Raked down the herd's grass for the cows: 

Heard the horse whinnying for his corn ; 

And, sharply clashing horn on horn. 

Impatient down the stanchion rows 25 

The cattle shake their walnut bows : 

While, peering from his early perch 

Upon the scaffold's pole of birch. 

The cock his crested helmet bent 

And down his querulous challenge sent. 30 

Unwarmed by any sunset light 

The gray day darkened into night, 

A night made hoary with the swarm 

And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, 

As zigzag wavering to and fro 35 

Crossed and recrossed the winged snow : 

And ere the early bed-time came 

The white drift piled the window-frame, 

And through the glass the clothes-line posts 

Looked in Uke tall and sheeted ghosts. 40 



SNOW-BOUND 



50 all night long the storm roared on: 



irhe morning broke without a sun; 

[n tiny spherule traced with lines 

3f Nature's geometric signs, 

in starry flake, and peUicle, 45 

* W day the hoary meteor fell ; 

\nd, when the second morning shone, 

vVe looked upon a world unknown, 

3n nothing we could call our own. 

\round the glistening wonder bent 50 

The blue walls of the firmament, 

^o cloud above, no earth below, — i^ 

A universe of sky and snow ! 

The old familiar sights of ours 

Took marvellous shapes ; strange domes and towers 55 

!lose up where sty or corn-crib stood, 

3r garden wall, or belt of wood; 

V smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, 

\ fenceless drift what once was road ; 

The bridle -post an old man sat 60 

kVith loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; 

The well-curb had a Chinese roof; 

|Vnd even the long sweep, high aloof, 

I'n its slant splendor, seemed to tell 

Of Pisa's leaning miracle. ° 65 

W prompt, decisive man, no breath 

Our father wasted : " Boys, a path ! " 

v¥ell pleased (for when did farmer boy 

'Jount such a summons less than joy ?) 

i )ur buskins on our ieet we drew ; 70 

With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, 
To guard our necks and ears from snow. 



6 SNOW-BOUND 

We cut the solid whiteness through. 
And, where the drift was deepest, made 
A tunnel walled and overlaid 
With dazzling crystal : we had read 
Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave,° 
And to our own his name we gave, 
With many a wish the luck were ours 
To test his lamp's supernal powers. 
We reached the barn with merry din 
And roused the prisoned brutes within. 
The old horse thrust his long head out, 
And grave with wonder gazed about; 
The cock his lusty greeting said. 
And forth his speckled harem led ; 
The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, 
And mild reproach of hunger looked ; 
The horned patriarch of the sheep. 
Like Egypt's Amun° roused from sleep. 
Shook his sage head with gesture mute, 
And emphasized with stamp of foot. 

All day the gusty north-wind bore 

The loosening drift its breath before ; 

Low circling round its southern zone. 

The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. 

No church-bell lent its Christian tone 

To the savage air, no social smoke 

Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. 

A solitude made more intense 

By dreary-voiced elements, 

The shrieking of the mindless wind. 

The moaning tree-boughs s waving blind. 

And on the grass the unmeaning beat 



SNOW-BOUND 7 

Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet. 105 

Beyond the circle of our hearth 

No welcome sound of toil or mirth 

Unbound the spell, and testified 

Of human life and thought outside. 

We minded that the sharpest ear no 

The buried brooklet could not hear, 

The music of whose liquid lip 

Had been to us companionship, 

And, in our lonely life, had grown 

To have an almost human tone. 115 

As night drew on, and, from the crest 

Of wooded knolls that ridged the west, 

The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank 

From sight beneath the smothering bank, 

We piled, with care, our nightly stack 120 

Of wood against the chimney-back, — 

The oaken log, green, huge, and thick. 

And on its top the stout back-stick; 

The knotty forestick laid apart, 

And filled between with curious art 125 

The ragged brush ; then, hovering near. 

We watched the first red blaze appear. 

Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam 

On whitewashed wall and sagging beam. 

Until the old, rude-furnished room 130 

Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom; 

While radiant with a mimic flame 

Outside the sparkling drift became. 

And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree 

Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free. 135 

The crane and pendent trammels showed, 



8 SNOW-BOUND 

The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed; 

While childish fancy, prompt to tell 

The meaning of the miracle, 

Whispered the old rhyme : '^ Under the tree, 140 

When fire outdoors hums merrily, 

There the witches are making tea." 

The moon above the eastern wood 

Shone at its full ; the hill-range stood 

Transfigured in the silver flood, 145 

Its blown snows flashing cold and keen, 

Dead white, save where some sharp ravine 

Took shadow, or the sombre green 

Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black 

Against the whiteness at their back. 150 

For such a world and such a night 

Most fitting that unwarming light, 

Which only seemed where'er it fell 

To make the coldness visible. 

Shut in from all the world without, 155 

We sat the clean-winged hearth about, 

Content to let the north-wind roar 

In baffled rage at pane and door. 

While the red logs before us beat 

The frost-line back with tropic heat; 160 

And ever, when a louder blast 

Shook beam and rafter as it passed, 

The merrier up its roaring draught 

The great throat of the chimney laughed; 

The house-dog on his paws outspread, 165 

Laid to the fire his drowsy head. 

The cat's dark silhouette on the wall 



SNOW-BOUND 9 

A couchant tiger's seemed to fall ; 

And, for the winter fireside meet, 

Between the andirons' straddling feet, 170 

The mug of cider simmered slow, 

The apples sputtered in a row, 

And, close at hand, the basket stood 

With nuts from brown October's wood. 

What matter how the night behaved ? 17s 

What matter how the north-wdnd raved ? 

Blow high, blow low, not all its snow 

Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. 

Time and Change ! — with hair as gray 

As was my sire's that winter day, 180 

How strange it seems, with so much gone 

Of life and love, to still live on ! 

Ah, brother ! only I and thou 

Are left of all that circle now, — 

The dear home faces whereupon 185 

That fitful firelight paled and shone. 

Henceforward, listen as we will, 

The voices of that hearth are still ; 

Look where we may, the wdde earth o^er, 

Those lighted faces smile no more. 190 

We tread the paths their feet have worn, 

We sit beneath their orchard trees, 

We hear, like them, the hum of bees 
And rustle of the bladed corn ; 
We turn the pages that they read, 19S 

Their written words w^e linger o'er, 
But in the sun they cast no shade. 
No voice is heard, no sign is made. 

No step is on the conscious floor ! 



10 SNOW-BOUND 

Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust 200 

(Since He who knows our need is just), 

That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. 

Alas for him who never sees 

The stars shine through his cypress-trees ! 

Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, 205 

Nor looks to see the breaking day 

Across the mournful marbles play ! 

Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, 

The truth to flesh and sense unknown, 
That Life is ever lord of Death, 210 

And Love can never lose its own ! 

We sped the time with stories old, 

Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told, 

Or stammered from our school-book lore 

"The Chief of Gambia's^ golden shore." 215 

How often since, when all the land 

Was clay in Slavery's shaping hand, 

As if a trumpet called, I've heard 

Dame Mercy Warren's rousing word : 

'^ Does not the voice of reason cry, 220 

Claim the first right which Nature gave, 
From the red scourge of bondage fly, 

Nor deign to live a burdened slave!" 
Our father rode again his ride 

On Memphremagog's° wooded side; ' 225 

Sat down again to moose and samp 
In trapper's hut and Indian camp; 
Lived o'er the old idyllic ease 
Beneath St. Frangois' hemlock trees°; 
Again for him the moonlight shone 230 

On Norman cap° and bodiced zone* 



SNOW-BOUND 11 

Again he heard the violin play 
I Which led the village dance away, 

And mingled in its merry whirl 

The grandam and the laughing girl. 235 

Or, nearer home, our steps he led 

Where Salisbury 's° level marshes spread 

Mile- wide as flies the laden bee ; 
' Where merry mowers, hale and strong. 

Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along 240 

The low green prairies of the sea. 

We shared the fishing off Boar's Head,° 
And round the rocky Isles of Shoals® 
The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals; 

The chowder on the sand-beach made, 245 

Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, 

With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. 

We heard the tales of witchcraft old. 

And dream and sign and marvel told 

To sleepy listeners as they lay 250 

Stretched idly on the salted hay, 
I Adrift along the winding shores, 
j When favoring breezes deigned to blow 
I The square sail of the gundelow, 
I And idle lay the useless oars, 255 

I Our mother, while she turned her wheel 
I Or run the new-knit stocking-heel. 

Told how the Indian hordes came down 

At midnight on Cochecho° town, 

And how her own great-uncle bore 260 

His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. 

Recalling, in her fitting phrase, 
So rich and picturesque and free, 



12 SNOW-BOUND 

(The common um^hymed poetry 
Of simple life and country ways), 265 

The story of her early days, — 
She made us welcome to her home; 
Old hearths grew wide to give us room; 
We stole with her a frightened look 
At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, 270 

The fame whereof went far and wide 
Through all the simple country-side; 
We heard the hawks at twilight play, 
The boat-horn on Piscataqua,° 

The loon's weird laughter far away; 275 

We fished her little trout-brook, knew 
What flowers in wood and meadow grew, 
What sunny hillsides autumn-brown 
She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, 
Saw where in sheltered cove and bay 280 

The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, 
And heard the wild-geese calling loud 
Beneath the gray November cloud. 
Then, haply, with a look more grave. 
And soberer tone, some tale she gave 285 

From painful Sewell's ancient tome,° 
Beloved in every Quaker home. 
Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, 
Or Chalkley's Journal, ° old and quaint, — 
Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint ! — 290 

Who, when the dreary calms prevailed, 
And water-butt and bread-cask failed, 
And cruel, hungry eyes pursued 
His portly presence mad for food. 
With dark hints muttered under breath 295 

Of casting lots for life or death, 



&NOW-BOUND 13 

Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies, 

To be himself the sacrifice. 

Then, suddenly, as if to save 

The good man from his living grave, 300 

A ripple on the water gjew, 

A school of porpoise dashed in view. 

''Take, eat," he said, ''and be content; 

These fishes in my stead are sent 

By Him who gave the tangled ram° 305 

To spare the child of Abraham." 

Our uncle, innocent of books, 

Was rich in lore of fields and brooks, 

The ancient teachers never dumb 

Of Nature's unhoused lyceum. 310 

In moons and tides ancl weather wise, 

He read the clouds as prophecies. 

And foul or fair could well divine, 

By many an occult hint and sign. 

Holding the cunning-warded keys 315 

To all the woodcraft mysteries; 

Himself to Nature's heart so near 

That all her voices in his ear 

Of beast or bird had meanings clear, 

Like Apollonius° of old, 320 

Who knew the tales the sparrows told, 

Or Hermes, ° who interpreted 

What the sage cranes of Nilus said; 

A simple, guileless, childlike man. 

Content to live where life began; 325 

Strong only on his native grounds. 

The little world of sights and sounds 

Whose girdle was the parish bounds, 



14 SNOW-BOUND 

Whereof his fondly partial pride 

The common features magnified, 330 

As Surrey hills to mountains grew 

In White of Selborne's° loving view, — 

He told how teal and loon he shot, 

And how the eagle's eggs he got, 

The feats on pond and river done, 335 

The prodigies of rod and gun; 

Till, warming with the tales he told, 

Forgotten was the outside cold. 

The bitter wind unheeded blew, 

From ripening corn the pigeons flew, 340 

The partridge drummed i' the wood, the mink 

Went fishing down the river-brink. 

In fields with bean or clover gay. 

The woodchuck, like a hermit gray. 

Peered from the doorway of his cell ; 345 

The muskrat plied the mason's trade, 

And tier by tier his mud-walls laid; 

And from the shagbark overhead 

The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell. 

Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer 350 

And voice in dreams I see and hear, — 

The sweetest woman ever Fate 

Perverse denied a household mate. 

Who, lonely, homeless, not the less 

Found peace in love's unselfishness, 355 

And welcome wheresoe'er she went, 

A calm and gracious element, 

Whose presence seemed the sweet income 

And womanly atmosphere of home, — 

Called up her girlhood memories, 360 



SNOW-BOUND 15 

The huskings and the apple-bees, 

The sleigh-rides and the summer sails, 

Weaving through all the poor details 

And homespun warp of circumstance 

A golden woof-thread of romance. 365 

For well she kept her genial mood 

And simple faith of maidenhood; 

Before her still a cloud-land lay, 

The mirage loomed across her way; 

The morning dew, that dries so soon 370 

With others, glistened at her noon; 

Through years of toil and soil and care, 

From glossy tress to thin gray hair, 

All unprofaned she held apart 

The virgin fancies of the heart. 375 

Be shame to him of woman born 

Who hath for such but thought of scorn. 

There, too, our elder sister plied 

Her evening task the stand beside ; 

A full, rich nature, free to trust, 380 

Truthful and almost sternly just, 

Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act. 

And make her generous thought a fact, 

Keeping with many a light disguise 

The secret of self-sacrifice. 385 

O heart sore-tried ! thou hast the best 

That Heaven itself could give thee, — rest, 

Rest from all bitter thoughts and things ! 

How many a poor one's blessing went 

With thee beneath the low green tent 390 

Whose curtain never outward swings ! 



16 SNOW-BOUND 

As one who held herself a part 
Of all she saw, and let her heart 

Against the household bosom lean, 
Upon the motley-braided mat 395 

Our youngest and our dearest sat, 
Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes, 

Now bathed within the fadeless green° 
And holy peace of Paradise. 
Oh, looking from some heavenly hill, 400 

Or from the shade of saintly palms, 

Or silver reach of river calms, 
Do those large eyes behold me still ? 
With me one little year ago : — 
The chill weight of the winter snow 405 

For months upon her grave has lain; 
And now, when summer south-winds blow 

And brier and harebell bloom again, 
I tread the pleasant paths we trod, 
I see the violet-sprinkled sod 410 

Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak 
The hillside flowers she loved to seek, 
Yet following me where'er I went 
With dark eyes full of love's content. 
The birds are glad ; the brier-rose fills 415 

The air with sweetness; all the hills 
Stretch green to June's unclouded sky; 
But still I wait with ear and eye 
For something gone which should be nigh, 
A loss in all familiar things, 420 

In flower that blooms, and bird that sings. 
And yet, dear heart ! remembering thee. 

Am I not richer than of old? 
Safe in thy immortality, 



SNOW-BOUND 17 

What change can reach the wealth I hold? 425 

What chance can mar the pearl and gold 
Thy love hath left in trust with me ? 
And while in life's late afternoon, 

Where cool and long the shadows grow, 
I walk to meet the night that soon 430 

Shall shape and shadow overflow. 
I cannot feel that thou art far, 
Since near at need the angels are; 
And when the sunset gates unbar, 

Shall I not see thee waiting stand, 43s 

And, white against the evening star, 

The welcome of thy beckoning hand? 

Brisk wielder of the birch and rule. 

The master of the district school ° 

Held at the fire his favored place, 440 

Its warm glow lit a laughing face 

Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared 

The uncertain prophecy of beard. 

He teased the mitten-blinded cat, 

Played cross-pins on my uncle's hat, 44S 

Sang songs, and told us what befalls 

In classic Dartmouth's college halls. 

Born the wild Northern hills among, 

From whence his yeoman father wrung 

By patient toil subsistence scant, 45© 

Not competence and yet not want. 

He early gained the power to pay 

His cheerful, self-reliant way; 

Could doff at ease his scholar's gown 

To peddle wares from town to town; 455 

Or through the long vacation's reach 



18 SNOW-BOUND 

In lonely lowland districts teach, 

Where all the droll experience found 

At stranger hearths in boarding round, 

The moonlit skater's keen delight, 460 

The sleigh-drive through the frosty night, 

The rustic party, with its rough 

Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff. 

And whirling plate, and forfeits paid. 

His winter task a pastime made. 465 

Happy the snow-locked homes wherein 

He tuned his merry violin, 

Or played the athlete in the barn. 

Or held the good dame's winding yarn, 

Or mirth-provoking versions told 47° 

Of classic legends rare and old, 

Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome 

Had all the commonplace of home. 

And little seemed at best the odds 

'Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods; 475 

Where Pindus-born Araxes° took 

The guise of any grist-mill brook, 

And dread Olympus at his will 

Became a huckleberry hill. 

A careless boy that night he seemed; 480 

But at his desk he had the look 
And air of one who wisely schemed, 

And hostage from the future took 

In trained thought and lore of book. 
Large-brained, clear-eyed, — of such as he 485 

Shall Freedom's young apostles be. 
Who, following in War's bloody trail, 
Shall every lingering wrong assail ; 



SNOW-BOUND 19 

All chains from limb and spirit strike, 

Uplift the black and white alike; 490 

Scatter before their swift advance 

The darkness and the ignorance, 

The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth, 

Which nurtured Treason's monstrous growth, 

Made murder pastime, and the hell 495 

Of prison-torture possible ; 

The cruel lie of caste refute, 

Old forms remould, and substitute 

For Slavery's lash the freeman's will. 

For blind routine, wise-handed skill ; 500 

A school-house plant on every hill, 

Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence 

The quick wires of intelligence ; 

Till North and South together brought 

Shall own the same electric thought, 505 

In peace a common flag salute, 

And, side by side in labor's free 

And unresentful rivalry, 

Harvest the fields wherein they fought. 

Another guest ° that winter night 510 

Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light. 

Unmarked by time, and yet not young, 

The honeyed music of her tongue 

And words of meekness scarcely told 

A nature passionate and bold, 515 

Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide. 

Its milder features dwarfed beside 

Her unbent will's majestic pride. 

She sat among us, at the best, 

A not unfeared, half-welcome guest, 520 



20 SNOW-BOUND 

Rebuking with her cultured phrase 

Our homeUness of words and ways. 

A certain pard-Uke, treacherous grace 

Swayed the Hthe limbs and drooped the lash, 
Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash; 525 

And under low brows, black with night, 
Rayed out at times a dangerous light; 

The sharp heat-lightnings of her face 

Presaging ill to him whom Fate 

Condemned to share her love or hate. 530 

A woman tropical, intense 

In thought and act, in soul and sense, 

She blended in a like degree 

The vixen and the devotee. 

Revealing with each freak or feint 535 

The temper of Petruchio's Kate,° 

The raptures of Siena's saint. ° 

Her tapering hand and rounded wrist 

Had facile power to form a fist; 

The warm, dark languish of her eyes 540 

Was never safe from wrath's surprise. 

Brows saintly calm and lips devout 

Knew every change of scowl and pout; 

And the sweet voice had notes more high 

And shrill for social battle-cry. 545 

Since then what old cathedral town 

Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown. 

What convent-gate has held its lock 

Against the challenge of her knock ! 

Through Smyrna's° plague-hushed thoroughfares, 550 

Up sea-set Malta's" rocky stairs, 

Gray olive slopes of hills that hem 

Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem, 



SNOW-BOUND 21 

Or startling on her desert throne 

The crazy Queen of Lebanon° sss 

With claims fantastic as her own, 

Her tireless feet have held their way; 

And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray, 

She watches under Eastern skies. 

With hope each day renewed and fresh, 560 

The Lord's quick coming in the flesh, 
Whereof she dreams and prophesies ! 
Where'er her troubled path may be. 

The Lord's sweet pity with her go ! 
The outward wayward life we see, s^s 

The hidden springs we may not know. 
Nor is it given us to discern 

What threads the fatal sisters spun. 

Through what ancestral years has run 
The sorrow with the woman born, 57° 

What forged her cruel chain of moods, 
What set her feet in solitudes. 

And held the love within her mute, 
What mingled madness in the blood, 

A life-long discord and annoy, 57S 

Water of tears with oil of joy, 
And hid within the folded bud 

Perversities of flower and fruit. 
It is not ours to separate 

The tangled skein of will and fate, 580 

To show what metes and bounds should stand 
Upon the soul's debatable land. 
And between choice and Providence 
Divide the circle of events ; 
But He who knows our frame is just, 58s 

M<3rciful, and compassionate, 



22 SNOW-BOUND 

And full of sweet assurances 
And hope for all the language is, 
That He remembereth we are dust ! 

At last the great logs, crumbling low, 590 

Sent out a dull and duller glow. 

The bull's-eye watch that hung in view, 

Ticking its weary circuit through. 

Pointed with mutely-warning sign 

Its black hand to the hour of nine. 595 

That sign the pleasant circle broke : 

My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke. 

Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray 

And laid it tenderly away. 

Then roused himself to safely cover 600 

The dull red brands with ashes over. 

And while, with care, our mother laid 

The work aside, her steps she stayed 

One moment, seeking to express 

Her grateful sense of happiness 605 

For food and shelter, warmth and health, 

And love's contentment more than wealth. 

With simple wishes (not the weak, 

Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek, 

But such as warm the generous heart, 610 

O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part) 

That none might lack, that bitter night. 

For bread and clothing, warmth and light. 

Within our beds awhile we heard 

The wind that round the gables roared, 615 

With now and then a ruder shock. 

Which made our very bedsteads rock, 



SNOW-BOUND 23 

We heard the loosened clapboards tost, 

The board-nails snapping in the frost; 

And on us, through the unplastered wall, 620 

Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall. 

But sleep stole on, as sleep will do 

When hearts are light and life is new; 

Faint and more faint the murmurs grew, 

Till in the summer-land of dreams 625 

They softened to the sound of streams. 

Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, 

And lapsing waves on quiet shores. 

Next morn we wakened with the shout 

Of merry voices high and clear; 630 

And saw the teamsters drawing near 

To break the drifted highways out. 

Down the long hillside treading slow 

We saw the half-buried oxen go. 

Shaking the snow from heads uptost, 635 

Their straining nostrils white with frost. 

Before our door the straggling train 

Drew up, an added team to gain. 

The elders threshed their hands a-cold, 

Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes 640 

From lip to lip; the younger folks 
Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled, 
Then toiled again the cavalcade 

O'er windy hill, through clogged ravine. 

And woodland paths that wound between 645 

Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed. 
From every barn a team afoot, 
At every house a new recruit. 
Where, drawn by Nature's subtlest law, 



24 SNOW-BOUND 

Haply the watchful young men saw 650 

Sweet doorway pictures of the curls 

And curious eyes of merry girls, 

Lifting their hands in mock defence 

Against the snow-ball's compliments, 

And reading in each missive tost 655 

The charm with Eden never lost. 

We heard once more the sleigh-bells' sound; 

And, following where the teamsters led, 
The wise old Doctor went his round, 
Just pausing at our door to say, 660 

In the brief autocratic way 
Of one who, prompt at Duty's call. 
Was free to urge her claim on all. 

That some poor neighbor sick abed 
At night our mother's aid would need. 665 

For, one in generous thought and deed. 

What mattered in the sufferer's sight 

The Quaker matron's inward light, 
The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed°? 
All hearts confess the saints elect 670 

Who, twain in faith, in love agree. 
And melt not in an acid sect 

The Christian pearl of charity ! 

So days went on : a week had passed 

Since the great world was heard from last. 675 

The Almanac we studied o'er, 

Read and reread our little store 

Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score ; 

One harmless novel, mostly hid 

From younger eyes, a book forbid, , 680 

And poetry, (or good or bad, 



SNOW-BOUND 25 

A single book was all we had,) 

Where Ell wood's ° meek, drab-skh'ted Muse, 

A stranger to the heathen Nine, 

Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, 685 

The wars of David and the Jews. 
At last the floundering carrier bore 
The village paper to our door. 
Lo ! broadening outward as we read, 
To warmer zones the horizon spread; 690 

In panoramic length unrolled 
We saw the marvels that it told. 
Before us passed the painted Creeks, ° 

And daft M'Gregor° on his raids 

In Costa Rica's everglades. 695 

And up Taygetos° winding slow 
Rode Ypsilanti's Mainote Greeks, 
A Turk's head at each saddle bow ! 
Welcome to us its week-old news, 
Its corner for the rustic Muse, 700 

Its monthly gauge of snow and rain, 
Its record, mingling in a breath 
The wedding knell and dirge of death : 
Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale, 

The latest culprit sent to jail ; 705 

Its hue and cry of stolen and lost. 
Its vendue sales and goods at cost. 

And traffic calling loud for gain. 
We felt the stir of hall and street. 

The pulse of life that round us beat; 710 

The chill embargo of the snow 
Was melted in the genial glow; 
Wide swung again our ice-locked door. 
And all the world was ours once more ! 



26 SNOW-BOUND 

Clasp, Angel of the backward look 715 

And folded wings of ashen gray 

And voice of echoes far away, 
The brazen covers of thy book; 
The weird palimpsest old and vast, 
Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past; 720 

Where, closely mingling, pale and glow 
The characters of joy and woe; 
The monographs of outlived years, 
Or smile-illumed or dim with tears. 

Green hills of life that slope to death, 725 

And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees 
Shade off to mournful cypresses 

With the white amaranths underneath. 
Even while I look, I can but heed 

The restless sands' incessant fall, 730 

Importunate hours that hours succeed. 
Each clamorous with its own sharp need, ^ 

And duty keeping pace with all. 
Shut down and clasp the heavy lids; 
I hear again the voice that bids 735 

The dreamer leave his dream midway 
For larger hopes and graver fears : 
Life greatens in these later years. 
The century's aloe flowers to-day ! 

Yet, haply, in some lull of life, 740 

Some Truce of God° which breaks its strife. 
The worldling's eyes shall gather dew, 

Dreaming in throngful city ways 
Of winter joys his boyhood knew; 
And dear and early friends — the few 745 

Who yet remain — shall pause to view 



SNOW-BOUND 27 

These Flemish pictures ° of old daj^s; 
Sit with me by the homestead hearth, 
And stretch the hands of memory forth 

To warm them at the wood-fire's blaze ! 750 

And thanks untraced to lips unknown 
Shall greet me like the odors blown 
From unseen meadows newly mown, 
Or lilies floating in some pond, 

Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond; 755 

The traveller owns the grateful sense 
Of sweetness near, he knows not whence, 
And, pausing, takes with forehead bare 
The benediction of the air. 



SONGS OF LABOR 
[1850] 

DEDICATION 

I WOULD the gift I offer here 

Might graces from thy favor take, 
And, seen through Friendship's atmosphere, 
On softened lines and coloring, wear 
The unaccustomed light of beauty, for thy sake. 5 

Few leaves of Fancy's spring remain : 
But what I have I give to thee, — 
The o'er-sunned bloom of summer's plain, 
And paler flowers, the latter rain 
Calls from the westering slope of life's autumnal lea. 10 

Above the fallen groves of green, 

Where youth's enchanted forest stood, 
Dry root and mossed trunk between, 
A sober after-growth is seen. 
As springs the pine where falls the gay-leafed maple 
wood ! 15 

Yet birds will sing, and breezes play 
Their leaf -harps in the sombre tree; 
28 



DEDICATION 29 

And through the bleak and wintry day 
It keeps its steady green alway, 19 

So, even my after-thoughts may have a charm for thee. 

Art's perfect forms no moral need — 

And beauty is its own excuse °; 
But for the dull and fiowerless weed 
Some healing virtue still must plead, 
And the rough ore must find its honors in its use. 25 

So haply these, my simple lays 

Of homely toil, may serve to show 
The orchard bloom and tasselled maize 
That skirt and gladden duty's ways, 
The unsung beauty hid life's common things below. 30 

Haply from them the toiler, bent 

Above his forge or plough, may gain 
A manlier spirit of content. 
And feel that life is wisest spent 
Where the strong working hand makes strong the 
working brain. 35 

The doom which to the guilty pair 
Without the walls of Eden came, 
Transforming sinless ease to care 
And rugged toil, no more shall bear 
The burden of old crime, or mark of primal shame. 40 

A blessing now, — a curse no more ; 

Since He, whose name we breathe with awe. 
The coarse mechanic vesture wore, — 
A poor man toiling with the poor. 
In labor, as in prayer, fulfilling the same law. 4$ 



30 SONGS OF LABOR 



THE SHIPBUILDERS^ 

The sky is ruddy in the east, 

The earth is gray below, 
And, spectral in the river-mist, 

The ship's white timbers show. 
Then let the sounds of measured stroke 5 

And grating saw begin; 
The broad axe to the gnarled oak, 

The mallet to the pin ! 

Hark ! — roars the bellows, blast on blast, 

The sooty smithy jars, 10 

And fire-sparks, rising far and fast. 

Are fading with the stars. 
All day for us the smith shall stand 

Beside that flashing forge; 
All day for us his heavy hand 15 

The groaning anvil scourge. 

From far-off hills the panting team 

For us is toiling near; 
For us the raftsmen down the stream 

Their island barges steer. 20 

Rings out for us the axe -man's stroke 

In forests old and still, — 
For us the century-circled oak 

Falls crashing down his hill. 

Up ! — up ! — in nobler toil than ours 25 

No craftsmen bear a part : 
We make of Nature's giant powers 

The slaves of human Art. 



THE SHIPBUILDERS 31 

Lay rib to rib and beam to beam, 

And drive the treenails free ; 30 

Nor faithless joint nor yawning seam 

Shall tempt the searching sea ! 

Where'er the keel of our good ship 

The sea's rough field shall plough, — 
Where'er her tossing spars shall drip 35 

With salt-spray caught below, — 
That ship must heed her master's beck, 

Her helm obey his hand, 
And seamen tread her reeling deck 

As if they trod the land. 40 

Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak 

Of Northern ice may peel ; 
The sunken rock and coral peak 

May grate along her keel ; 
And know we well the painted shell 45 

We give to wind and wave. 
Must float, the sailor's citadel, 

Or, sink, the sailor's grave ! 

Ho ! — strike away the bars and blocks, 

And set the good ship free ! 5° 

Why lingers on these dusty rocks 

The young bride of the sea ? 
Look ! how she moves adown the grooves, 

In graceful beauty now ! 
How lowly on the breast she loves 55 

Sinks down her virgin prow ! 

God bless her ! wheresoe'er the breeze 
Her snowy wing shall fan, 



32 SOJ^GS OF LAB OB 

Aside, the frozen Hebrides, ° 

Or sultry Hindostan ! 60 

Where'er, in mart or on the main, 

With peaceful flag unfurled. 
She helps to wind the silken chain 

Of commerce round the world ! 

Speed on the ship ! — But let her bear 65 

No merchandise of sin, 
No groaning cargo of despair 

Her roomy hold within; 
No Lethean drug° for Eastern lands, 

Nor poison-draught for ours; 70 

But honest fruits of toiling hands 

And Nature's sun and showers. 

Be hers the Prairie's golden grain, 

The Desert's golden sand, 
The clustered fruits of sunny Spain, 75 

The spice of Morning-land ! 
Her pathway on the open main 

May blessings follow free. 
And glad hearts welcome back again 

Her white sails from the sea ! 80 



THE SHOEMAKERS 

Ho ! workers of the old time styled 
The Gentle Craft of Leather°! 

Young brothers of the ancient guild, 
Stand forth once more together ! 

C^U out again your long array. 



THE SHOEMAKERS 33 

In the olden merry manner ! 
Once more, on gay St. Crispin's ° day, 
Fling out your blazoned banner ! 

Rap, rap ! upon the well-worn stone 

How falls the polished hammer ! lo 

Rap, rap ! the measured sound has grown 

A quick and merry clamor. 
Now shape the sole ! now deftly curl 

The glossy vamp around it. 
And bless the while the bright-eyed girl 15 

Whose gentle fingers bound it ! 

For you, along the Spanish main° 

A hundred keels are ploughing; 
For you, the Indian on the plain 

His lasso-coil is throwing ; 20 

For you, deep glens with hemlock dark 

The woodman's fire is lighting ; 
For you, upon the oak's gray bark, 

The woodman's axe is smiting. 

For you, from Carolina's pine 25 

The rosin-gum is stealing ; 
For you, the dark-eyed Florentine "^ 

Her silken skein is reeling; 
For you, the dizzy goatherd roams 

His rugged Alpine ledges ; 30 

For you, round all her shepherd homes. 

Bloom England's thorny hedges. 

The foremost still, by day or night, 
On moated mound or heather. 



34 SONGS OF LABOR 

Where'er the need of trampled right 35 

Brought toiling men together; 
Where the free burghers from the wall 

Defied the mail-clad master, 
Than yours, at Freedom's trumpet-call, 

No craftsman rallied faster. ' 40 

Let foplings sneer, let fools deride, — 

Ye heed no idle scorner; 
Free hands and hearts are still your pride, 

And duty done, your honor. 
Ye dare to trust, for honest fame, 45 

The jury Time empanels. 
And leave to truth each noble name 

Which glorifies your annals. 

Thy songs, Han Sachs, ° are living yet. 

In strong and hearty German; 50 

And Bloomfield's ° lay, and Gifford's wit,° 

And patriot fame of Sherman °; 
Still from his book, a mystic seer, 

The soul of Behmen° teaches, 
And England's priestcraft shakes to hear 55 

Of Fox's ° leathern breeches. 

The foot is yours ; where'er it falls, 

It treads your well-wrought leather, 
On earthen floor, in marble halls, 

On carpet, or on heather. 60 

Still there the sweetest charm is found 

Of matron grace or vestal's. 
As Hebe's ° foot bore nectar round. 

Among the old celestials ! 



THE DROVERS 35 

Rap, rap ! — your stout and bluff brogan, 65 

With footsteps slow and weary, 
May wander where the sky's blue span 

Shuts down upon the prairie. 
On Beauty's foot your slippers glance, 

By Saratoga's ° fountains, 70 

Or twinkle down the summer dance 

Beneath the Crystal Mountains °! 

The red brick to the mason's hand. 

The brown earth to the tiller's, 
The shoe in yours shall wealth command, 75 

Like fairy Cinderella's ! 
As they who shunned the household maid 

Beheld the crown upon her, 
So all shall see your toil repaid 

With hearth and home and honor. 80 

Then let the toast be freely quaffed, 

In water cool and brimming, — 
''All honor to the good old Craft, 

Its merry men and women !" 
Call out again your long array, 85 

In the old time's pleasant manner: 
Once more, on gay St. Crispin's day, 

Fling out his blazoned banner ! 

THE DROVERS 

Through heat and cold, and shower and sun, 

Still onward cheerly driving ! 
There's life alone in duty done, 

And rest alone in striving. 



36 SOKGS OF LABOR 

But see ! the day is closing cool, S 

The woods are dim before us ; 
The white fog of the wayside pool 

Is creeping slowly o'er us. 

The night is falling, comrades mine, 

Our footsore beasts are weary, lo 

And through yon elms the tavern sign 

Looks out upon us cheery. 
The landlord beckons from his door, 

His beechen fire is glowing; 
These ample barns, with feed in store, 15 

Are filled to overflowing. 

From many a valley frowned across 

By brows of rugged mountains ; 
From hillsides where, through spongy moss. 

Gush out the river fountains; 20 

From quiet farm-fields, green and low, 

And bright with blooming clover; 
From vales of corn the wandering crow 

No richer hovers over; 

Day after day our way has been, 25 

O'er many a hill and hollow ; 
By lake and stream, by wood and glen, 

Our stately drove we follow. 
Through dust-clouds rising thick and dun, 

As smoke of battle o'er us, 30 

Their white horns glisten in the sun. 

Like plumes and crests before us. 

We see them slowly climb the hill. 

As slow behind it sinking ; 
Or, thronging close, from roadside rill, 35 

Or sunny lakelet, drinking. 



THE DROVERS 37 

Now crowding in the narrow road, 

In thick and struggling masses, 
They glare upon the teamster's load, 

Or rattling coach that passes; 40 

Anon, with toss of horn and tail, 

And paw of hoof, and bellow, 
They leap some farmer's broken pale. 

O'er meadow-close or fallow. 
Forth comes the startled goodman; forth 45 

Wife, children, house-dog, sally; 
Till once more on their dusty path 

The baffled truants rally. 

We drive no starvelings, scraggy grown, 

Loose-legged, and ribbed and bony, 50 

Like those who grind their noses down 

On pastures bare and stony, — 
Lank oxen, rough as Indian dogs, 

And cows too lean for shadows, 
Disputing feebly with the frogs 55 

The crop of saw-grass meadows ! 

In our good drove, so sleek and fair. 

No bones of leanness rattle; 
No tottering hide-bound ghosts are there, 

Or Pharaoh's evil cattle. ° 60 

Each stately beeve bespeaks the hand 

That fed him unrepining ; 
The fatness of a goodly land 

In each dun hide is shining. 

We've sought them where, in warmest nooks, 65 
The freshest feed is growing, 



88 SONGS OF LABOR 

By sweetest springs and clearest brooks 

Through honeysuckle flowing; 
Wherever hillsides, sloping south, 

Are bright with early grasses, 70 

Or, tracking green the lowland's drouth, 

The mountain streamlet passes. 

But now the day is closing cool, 

The woods are dim before us. 
The white fog of the wayside pool 75 

Is creeping slowly o'er us. 
The cricket to the frog's bassoon 

His shrillest time is keeping ; 
The sickle of yon setting moon 

The meadow-mist is reaping. 80 

The night is falling, comrades mine, 

Our footsore beasts are weary. 
And through yon elms the tavern sign 

Looks out upon us cheery. 
To-morrow, eastward with our charge 85 

We'll go to meet the dawning. 
Ere yet the pines of Kearsarge 

Have seen the sun of morning. 

When snow-flakes o'er the frozen earth, 

Instead of birds, are flitting; 90 

When children throng the glowing hearth, 

And quiet wives are knitting; 
While in the fire-light strong and clear 

Young eyes of pleasure glisten. 
To tales of all we see and hear 95 

The ears of home shall listen. 



THE FISHERMEN 39 

By many a Northern lake and hill, 

From many a mountain pastm'e, 
Shall Fancy play the Drover still, 

And speed the long night faster. loo 

Then let us on, through shower and sun, 

And heat and cold, be driving; 
There's life alone in duty done. 

And rest alone in striving. 



THE FISHERMEN 

Hurrah ! the seaward breezes 

Sweep down the bay amain; 
Heave up, my lads, the anchor ! 

Run up the sail again ! 
Leave to the lubber landsmen S 

The rail-car and the steed; 
The stars of heaven shall guide us, 

The breath of heaven shall speed. 

From the hill-top looks the steeple. 

And the lighthouse from the sand; lo 

And the scattered pines are waving 

Their farewell from the land. 
One glance, my lads, behind us. 

For the homes we leave one sigh, 
Ere we take the change and chances 15 

Of the ocean and the sky. 

Now, brothers, for the icebergs 

Of frozen Labrador, 
Floating spectral in the moonshine, 

Along, the low, black shore ! 20 



40 SONGS OF LABOR 

Where like snow the gannet's feathers 

On Brador's° rocks are shed, 
And the noisy murr are flying, 

Like black scuds, overhead; 

Where in mist the rock is hiding, 25 

And the sharp reef lurks below. 
And the white squall smites in summer, 

And the autumn tempests blow ; 
Where, through gray and rolling vapor, 

From evening unto morn, 30 

A thousand boats are hailing, 

Horn answering unto horn. 

Hurrah ! for the Red Island, ° 

With the white cross on its crown ! 
Hurrah! for Meccatina,° 35 

And its mountains bare and brown ! 
Where the caribou's tall antlers 

O'er the dwarf-wood freely toss, 
And the footstep of the Mickmack° 

Has no sound upon the moss. 40 

There we'll drop our lines, and gather 

Old Ocean's treasures in. 
Where'er the mottled mackerel 

Turns up a steel-dark fin. 
The sea's our field of harvest, 45 

Its scaly tribes our grain; 
We'll reap the teeming waters 

As at home they reap the plain ! 

Our wet hands spread the carpet, 

And fight the hearth of home; 50 



THE FISHERMEI^ 41 

From our fish, as in the old time, 

The silver coin shall come. 
As the demon fled the chamber 

Where the fish of Tobit° lay, 
So ours from all our dwellings 55 

Shall frighten Want away. 

Though the mist upon our jackets 

In the bitter air congeals, 
And our lines wind stiff and slowly 

From off the frozen reels ; 60 

Though the fog be dark around us, 

And the storm blow high and loud, 
We will w^histle down the wild wind. 

And laugh beneath the cloud ! 

In the darkness as in daylight, 65 

On the water as on land, 
God's eye is looking on us, 

And l3eneath us is His hand ! 
Death will find us soon or later, 

On the deck or in the cot ; 70 

And we cannot meet him better 

Than in working out our lot. 

Hurrah I — hurrah ! — the west-wind 

Comes freshening down the bay, 
The rising sails are filling, — 75 

Give way, my lads, give way ! 
Leave the coward landsman clinging 

To the dull earth, like a weed, — 
The stars of heaven shall guide us. 

The breath of heaven shall speed ! 80 



42 SONGS OF LABOR 



THE HUSKERS 

It was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain 

Had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass 
again ; 

The first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the wood- 
lands gay 

With the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow- 
flowers of May. 

Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose 
broad and red, 5 

At first a rayless disk of fire he brightened as he sped; 

Yet, even his noontide glory fell chastened and subdued. 

On the cornfields and the orchards, and softly pictured 
wood. 

And all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the night, 
He wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow 

light ; 10 

Slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified the 

hill; 
And, beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, greener 

still. 

And shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses 

of that sky, 
Flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they 

knew not why; 
And school-girls, gay with aster-flowers, beside the 

meadow brooks, 15 

Mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of sweet 

looks. 



THE HUSKERS 43 

From spire and barn looked westerly the patient 

weathercocks ; 
But even the birches on the hill stood motionless as 

rocks. 
No sound was in the woodlands, save the squirrel's 

dropping shell, 
And the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling 

as they fell. 20 

The summer grains were harvested; the stubble-fields 

lay dry, 
Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale 

green waves of rye; 
But still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with 

wood, 
Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop 

stood. 

Bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks 

that, dry and sear, 25 

Unfolded from their ripened charge, shone out the 

yellow ear; 
Beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant 

fold, 
And glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's 

sphere of gold. 

There wrought the busy harvesters; and many a 

creaking wain 
Bore slowly to the long barn-floor its load of husk and 

grain; 30 

Till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank down, 

at last; 



44 SONGS OF LABOR 

And like a merry guest's farewell, the day in brightness 
passed. 

And lo ! as through the western pines, on meadow, 

stream, and pond, 
Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire beyond, 
Slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone, 35 
And the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into 

one! 

As thus into the quiet night the twilight lapsed away. 

And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil 
shadows lay; 

From many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet with- 
out name, 

Their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry 
huskers came. 40 

Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks 

in the mow. 
Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene 

below; 
The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears 

before. 
And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks 

glimmering o'er. 

Half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart, 45 
Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart; 
While, up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in 

its shade. 
At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy 

children played. 



THE CORN-SONG 45 

Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young 

and fair, 
Lifting to Ught her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft 

brown hair, 50 

The master of the village school, sleek of hair and smooth 

of tongue. 
To the quaint tune of some old psalm, a husking- 

ballad sung. 

THE CORN-SONG 

Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard ! 

Heap high the golden corn ! 
No richer gift has Autumn poured 

From out her lavish horn ! 

Let other lands, exulting, glean S 

The apple from the pine, 
The orange from its glossy green. 

The cluster from the vine ; 

We better love the hardy gift 

Our rugged vales bestow, 10 

To cheer us when the storm shall drift 

Our harvest-fields with snow. 

Through vales of grass and meads of flowers, 

Our ploughs their furrows made. 
While on the hills the sun and showers 15 

Of changeful April played. 

We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, 
Beneath the sun of May, 



46 SONGS OF LABOR 

And frightened from our sprouting grain 

The robber crows away. 20 

All through the long, bright days of June 

Its leaves grew green and fair, 
And waved in hot midsummer's noon 

Its soft and yellow hair. 

And now, with autumn's moonlit eves, 25 

Its harvest-time has come, 
We pluck away the frosted leaves, 

And bear the treasure home. 

There, richer than the fabled gift 

Apollo showered of old, 30 

Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, 

And knead its meal of gold. 

Let vapid idlers loll in silk 

Around their costly board; 
Give us the bowl of samp and milk, 35 

By homespun beauty poured ! 

Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth 

Sends up its smoky curls, 
Who will not thank the kindly earth. 

And bless our farmer girls ? 40 

Then shame on all the proud and vain, 

Whose folly laughs to scorn 
The blessing of our hardy grain, 

Our wealth of golden corn ! 



THE LUMBERMEN 47 

Let earth withhold her goodly root, 45 

Let mildew blight the rye, 
Give to the worm the orchard's fruit, 

The wheat-field to the fly : 

But let the good old crop adorn 

The hills our fathers trod ; so 

Still let us, for His golden corn, 

Send up our thanks to God ! 



THE LUMBERMEN 

Wildly round our woodland quarters, 

Sad- voiced Autumn grieves; 
Thickly down these swelling waters 

Float his fallen leaves. 
Through the tall and naked timber, 

Column-like and old, 
Gleam the sunsets of November, 

From their skies of gold. 

O'er us, to the southland heading. 

Screams the gray wild-goose; 
On the night-frost sounds the treading 

Of the brindled moose. 
Noiseless creeping, while we're sleeping 

Frost his task-work plies; 
Soon, his icy bridges heaping, 

Shall our log-piles rise. 

When, with sounds of smothered thunder. 

On some night of rain. 
Lake and river break asunder 



48 SONGS OF LABOR 

Winter's weakened chain, 20 

Down the wild March flood shall bear them 

To the saw-mill's wheel, 
Or where Steam, the slave, shall tear them 

With his teeth of steel. 

Be it starlight, be it moonlight, 25 

In these vales below, 
When the earliest beams of sunlight 

Streak the mountain's snow, 
Crisps the hoar-frost, keen and early, 

To our hurrying feet, 30 

And the forest echoes clearly 

All our blows repeat. 

Where the crystal Ambijejis 

Stretches broad and clear. 
And Millnoket's pine-black ridges 35 

Hide the browsing deer : 
Where, through lakes and wide morasses, 

Or through rocky walls. 
Swift and strong, Penobscot passes 

White with foamy falls ; 40 

Where, through clouds, are glimpses given 

Of Katahdin's sides, ° — 
Rock and forest piled to heaven. 

Torn and ploughed by slides ! 
Far below, the Indian trapping, 4S 

In the sunshine warm; 
Far above, the snow-cloud wrapping 

Half the peak in storm ! 



THE LUMBERMEN 49 

Where are mossy carpets better 

Than the Persian weaves, 50 

And than Eastern perfumes sweeter 

Seem the fading leaves ; 
And a music wild and solemn, 

From the pine-tree's height, 
Rolls its vast and sea-like volume 55 

On the wind of night ; 

Make we here our camp of winter; 

And, through sleet and snow. 
Pitchy knot and beechen splinter 

On our hearth shall glow, 60 

Here, with mirth to lighten duty, 

We shall lack alone 
Woman's smile and girlhood's beauty, 

Childhood's lisping tone. 

But their hearth is brighter burning 65 

For our toil to-day; 
And the welcome of returning 

Shall our loss repay. 
When, like seamen from the waters, 

From the woods we come, 70 

Greeting sisters, wives, and daughters, 

Angels of our home ! 

Not for us the measured ringing 

From the village spire. 
Not for us the Sabbath singing 75 

Of the sweet-voiced choir : 
Ours the old, majestic temple, 

Where God's brightness shines 



50 SONGS OF LAB OB 

Down the dome so grand and ample, 

Propped by lofty pines ! 80 

Through each branch-enwoven skylight 

Speaks He in the breeze, 
As of old beneath the twilight 

Of lost Eden's trees ! 
For His ear, the inward feeling 85 

Needs no outward tongue : 
He can see the spirit kneeling 

While the axe is swung. 

Heeding truth alone, and turning 

From the false and dim, 90 

Lamp of toil or altar burning 

Are alike to Him. 
Strike, then, comrades ! — Trade is waiting 

On our rugged toil ; 
Far ships waiting for the freighting 95 

Of our woodland spoil ! 

Ships, whose traffic links these highlands, 

Bleak and cold, of ours, 
With the citron-planted islands 

Of a clime of flowers ; 100 

To our frosts the tribute bringing 

Of eternal heats ; 
In our lap of winter flinging 

Tropic fruits and sweets. 

Cheerly, on the axe of labor, 105 

Let the sunbeams dance. 
Better than the flash of sabre 

Or the gleam of lance ! 



THE LUMBERMEN 51 

Strike ! — With every blow is given 

Freer sun and sky, no 

And the long-hid earth to heaven 

Looks, with wondering eye ! 

Loud behind us grow the murmurs 

Of the age to come; 
Clang of smiths, and tread of farmers, ns 

Bearing harvest home ! 
Here her virgin lap with treasures 

Shall the green earth fill ; 
Waving wheat and golden maize-ears 

Crown each beechen hill. 120 

Keep who will the city's alleys. 

Take the smooth-shorn plain, — 
Give to us the cedar valleys, 

Rocks, and hills of Maine ! 
In our North-land, wild and woody, 125 

Let us still have part : 
Rugged nurse and mother sturdy, 

Hold us to thy heart ! 

Oh, our free hearts beat the warmer 

For thy breath of snow ; 130 

And our tread is all the firmer 

For thy rocks below. 
Freedom, hand in hand with Labor, 

Walketh strong and brave; 
On the forehead of his neighbor 135 

No man writeth Slave ! 

Lo, the day breaks ! old Katahdin's 
Pine-trees show its fires, 



52 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

While from these dim forest gardens 

Rise their blackened spires. 140 

Up, my comrades ! up and doing ! 
Manhood's rugged play 

Still renewing, bravely hewing 
Through the world our way ! 



BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK° 
1658 

To the God of all sure mercies let my blessing rise to- 
day. 

From the scoffer and the cruel He hath plucked the 
spoil away, — 

Yea, He who cooled the furnace around the faithful 
three, 

And tamed the Chaldean lions, ° hath set His handmaid 
free ! 

Last night I saw the sunset melt through my prison 

bars, 5 

Last night across my damp earth-floor fell the pale 

gleam of stars ; 
In the coldness and the darkness all through the long 

night-time. 
My grated casement whitened with autumn's early 

rime. 



CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK 63 

Alone, in that dark sorrow, hour after hour crept by; 
Star after star looked palely in and sank adown the 

sky; ^ lo 

No sound amid night's stillness, save that which seemed 

to be 
The dull and heavy beating of the pulses of the sea; 

All night I sat unsleeping, for I knew that on the 

morrow 
The ruler and the cruel priest would mock me in my 

sorrow. 
Dragged to their place of market, and bargained for 

and sold, 15 

Like a lamb before the shambles, like a heifer from the 

fold! 

Oh, the weakness of the flesh was there, — the shrinking 

and the shame; 
And the low voice of the Tempter like whispers to me 

came: 
'' Why sit'st thou thus forlornly !" the wicked murmur 

said, 
'^ Damp walls thy bower of beauty, cold earth thy 

maiden bed ? 20 

'^ Where be the smiling faces, and voices soft and sweet, 

Seen in thy father's dwelling, heard in the pleasant 
street ? 

Where be the youths whose glances, the summer Sab- 
bath through. 

Turned tenderly and timidly unto thy father's pew ? 

'' Why sit'st thou here^ Cassandra ? — Bethink thee with 
what mirth 25 



54 BALLADS AND NAREATIVE POEMS 

Thy happy schoolmates gather around the warm bright 

hearth ; 
How the crimson shadows tremble on foreheads white 

and fair, 
On eyes of merry girlhood, half hid in golden hair. 

" Not for thee the hearth-fire brightens, not for thee kind 

words are spoken, 
Not for thee the nuts of Wenham° woods by laughing 

boys are broken, 30 

No first-fruits of the orchard within thy lap are laid. 
For thee no flowers of autumn the youthful hunters 

braid. 

'' Oh, weak, deluded maiden ! — by crazy fancies led, 

With wild and raving railers an evil path to tread ; 

To leave a wholesome worship, and teaching pure and 
sound ; 35 

And mate with maniac women, loose-haired and sack- 
cloth bound. 

"Mad scoffers of the priesthood, who mock at things 

divine. 
Who rail against the pulpit, and holy bread and wine; 
Sore from their cart-tail scourgings, and from the pillory 

lame, 
Rejoicing in their wretchedness, and glorying in their 

shame. 40 

"And what a fate awaits thee? — a sadly toiling slave, 
Dragging the slowly lengthening chain of bondage to the 

grave ! 
Think of thy woman's nature, subdued in hopeless 

thrall, 
The easy prey of any, the scoff and scorn of all { '' 



CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK 55 

Oh, ever as the Tempter spoke, and feeble Nature's 

fears 45 

Wrung drop by drop the scalding flow of unavailing 

tears, 
I wrestled down the evil thoughts, and strove in silent 

prayer, 
To feel, O Helper of the weak ! that Thou indeed wert 

there ! 

I thought of Paul and Silas, within Philippi's cell,° 
And how from Peter's sleeping limbs° the prison-shackles 

fell, 50 

Till I seemed to hear the trailing of an angel's robe of 

white. 
And to feel a blessed presence invisible to sight. 

Bless the Lord for all His mercies ! — for the peace and 

love I felt, 
Like dew of Hermon's holy hill,° upon my spirit melt; 
When ''Get behind me, Satan!" was the language of 

my heart, 55 

And I felt the Evil Tempter with all his doubts depart. 

Slow broke the gray cold morning; again the sunshine 

fell, 
Flecked with the shade of bar and grate within my lonely 

cell; 
The hoar-frost melted on the wall, and upward from the 

street 
Came careless laugh and idle word, and tread of passing 

feet. 60 

At length the heavy bolts fell back, my door was open 
cast, 



B6 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

And slowly at the sheriff's side, up the long street I 

passed; 
I heard the murmur round me, and felt, but dared not 

see. 
How, from every door and window, the people gazed on 

me. 

And doubt and fear fell on me, shame burned upon my 

cheek, 65 

Swam earth and sky around me, my trembling limbs 

grew weak : 
''O Lord! support Thy handmaid; and from her soul 

cast out 
The fear of man, which brings a snare, — the weakness 

and the doubt." 

Then the dreary shadows scattered, like a cloud in 

morning's breeze, 
And a low deep voice within me seemed whispering 

words like these: 70 

''Though thy earth be as the iron, and thy heaven a 

brazen wall, 
Trust still His loving-kindness whose power is over all." 

We paused at length, where at my feet the sunlit waters 

broke 
On glaring reach of shining beach, and shingly wall of 

rock; 
The merchant-ships lay idly there, in hard clear lines on 

high, 75 

Tracing with rope and slender spar their network on the 

sky. 

And there were ancient citizens, cloak-wrapped and 
grave and cold. 



CASSANDRA SOUTH WICK 57 

And grim and stout sea-captains with faces bronzed and 

old, 
And on his horse, with Rawson, his cruel clerk at hand, 
Sat dark and haughty Endicott,° the ruler of the 

land. 80 

And poisoning with his evil words the ruler's ready ear, 
The priest leaned o'er his saddle, with laugh and scoff 

and jeer; 
It stirred my soul, and from my lips the seal of silence 

broke. 
As if through woman's weakness a warning spirit spoke. 

I cried, ''The Lord rebuke thee, thou smiter of the 
meek, 85 

Thou robber of the righteous, thou trampler of the weak ! 

Go light the dark, cold hearth-stones, — go turn the 
prison lock 

Of the poor hearts thou hast hunted, thou wolf amid the 
flock!" 

Dark lowered the brows of Endicott, and with a deeper 

red 
O'er Rawson's wine-empurpled cheek the flush of anger 

spread ; 90 

"Good people," quoth the white-lipped priest, ''heed 

not her words so wild, 
Her master speaks within her, — the Devil owns his 

child!" 

But gray heads shook, and young brows knit, the while 

the sheriff read 
That law the wicked rulers against the poor have made, 



58 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Who to their house of Rimmon° and idol priesthood 
bring _ 95 

No bended knee of worship, nor gainful offering. 

Then to the stout sea-captains the sheriff, turning, 

said, — 
''Which of ye, worthy seamen, will take this Quaker 

maid? 
In the Isle of fair Barbadoes, or on Virginia's shore. 
You may hold her at a higher price than Indian girl 

or Moor." loo 

Grim and silent stood the captains ; and when again he 

cried, 
"Speak out, my worthy seamen!" — no voice, no sign 

replied ; 
But I felt a hard hand press my own, and kind words 

met my ear, — 
" God bless thee, and preserve thee, my gentle girl and 

dear!" 

A weight seemed lifted from my heart, — a pitying 
friend was nigh, 105 

I felt it in his hard, rough hand, and saw it in his eye; 

And when again the sheriff spoke, that voice, so kind to 
me. 

Growled back its stormy answer like the roaring of the 
sea, — 

"Pile my ship with bars of silver, — pack with coins of 

Spanish gold. 
From keel-piece up to deck-plant, the roomage of her 

hold, no 



CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK 59 

By the living God who made me ! — I would sooner in 

your bay 
Sink ship and crew and cargo, than bear this child 

away!" 

^'Well answered, worthy captain, shame on their cruel 

laws !" 
Ran through the crowd in murmurs loud the people's 

just applause. 
"Like the herdsman of Tekoa,° in Israel of old, 115 
Shall we see the poor and righteous again for silver 

sold?" 

I looked on haughty Endicott; with weapon halfway 

drawn. 
Swept round the throng his lion glare of bitter hate and 

scorn; 
Fiercely he drew his bridle-rein, and turned in silence 

back. 
And sneering priest and baffled clerk rode murmuring 

in his track. 120 

Hard after them the sheriff looked, in bitterness of soul ; 

Thrice smote his staff upon the ground, and crushed 
his parchment roll. 

''Good friends," he said, ''since both have fled, the 
ruler and the priest, 

Judge ye, if from their further work I be not well re- 
leased." 

Loud was the cheer which, full and clear, swept round 
the silent bay, 125 

As, with kind words and kinder looks, he bade me go my 
way; 



60 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

For He who turns the courses of the streamlet of the 

glen, 
And the river of great waters, had turned the hearts of 

men. 

Oh, at that hour the very earth seemed changed beneath 
my eye, 

A holier wonder round me rose the blue walls of the 
sky, 130 

A lovelier light on rock and hill and stream and wood- 
land lay, 

And softer lapsed on sunnier sands the waters of the 
bay. 

Thanksgiving to the Lord of life ! — to Him all praises 

be, 
Who from the hands of evil men hath set His handmaid 

free; 
All praise to Him before whose power the mighty are 

afraid, 135 

Who takes the crafty in the snare which for the poor is 

laid! 

Sing, O my soul, rejoicingly, on evening's twilight calm 
Uplift the loud thanksgiving, — pour forth the grateful ' 

psalm; 
Let all dear hearts with me rejoice, as did the saints of 

old, 
When of the Lord's good angel the rescued Peter 

told. 140 

And weep and howl, ye evil priests and mighty men of 
wrong, 



FUNERAL TREE OF THE SOKOKIS 61 

The Lord shall smite the proud, and lay His hand upon 

the strong. 
Woe to the wicked rulers in His avenging hour ! 
Woe to the wolves who seek the flocks to raven and 

devour ! 

But let the humble ones arise, — the poor in heart be 
glad, ^ _ ^ 145 

And let the mourning ones again with robes of praise be 
clad, 

For He who cooled the furnace, and smoothed the stormy 
wave, 

And tamed the Chaldean lions, is mighty still to save ! 



FUNERAL TREE OF THE SOKOKIS 

1756 

Around Sebago's° lonely lake 
There lingers not a breeze to break 
The mirror which its waters make. 

The solemn pines along its shore. 

The firs which hang its gray rocks o'er, 5 

Are painted on its glassy floor. 

The sun looks o'er, with hazy eye. 
The snowy mountain-tops which lie 
Piled coldly up against the sky, 

Dazzling and white ! save where the bleak, 10 

Wild winds have bared some splintering peak. 
Or snow-slide left its dusky streak. 



62 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Yet green are Saco's banks below 

And belts of spruce and cedar show 

Dark, fringing round those cones of snow. 15 

The earth hath felt the breath of spring, 
Though yet on her deliverer's wing 
The lingering frosts of winter cling. > 

Fresh grasses fringe the meadow-brooks 

And mildly from its sunny nooks 20 

The blue eye of the violet looks. 

And odors from the springing grass, 
The sweet birch and the sassafras. 
Upon the scarce-felt breezes pass. 

Her tokens of renewing care 25 

Hath Nature scattered everywhere, 
In bud and flower, and warmer air. 

But in their hour of bitterness. 

What reck the broken Sokokis, 

Beside their slaughtered chief, of this? 30 

The turf's red stain is yet undried, — 
Scarce have the death-shot echoes died 
Along Sebago's wooded side: 

And silent now the hunters stand, 

Grouped darkly, where a swell of land 35 

Slopes upward from the lake's white sand. 

Fire and the axe have swept it bare, 
Save one lone beech, unclosing there 
Its light leaves in the vernal air. 



FUNERAL TREE OF THE SOKOKIS 63 

With grave, cold looks, all sternly mute, 40 

They break the damp turf at its foot, 
And bare its coiled and twisted root. 

They heave the stubborn trunk aside. 

The firm roots from the earth divide, — 

The rent beneath yawns dark and wide. 45 

And there the fallen chief is laid, 
In tasselled garbs of skins arrayed, 
And girded with its wampum-braid. 

The silver cross he loved is pressed 

Beneath the heavy arms, which rest 50 

Upon his scarred and naked breast. 

'Tis done: the roots are backward sent. 
The beechen-tree stands up unbent, — 
The Indian's fitting monument ! 

When of that sleeper's broken race 55 

Their green and pleasant dw^elling-place. 
Which knew them once, retains no trace; 

Oh, long may sunset's light be shed 

As now upon that beech's head, — 

A green memorial of the dead ! 60 

There shall his fitting requiem be, 

In northern winds, that, cold and free. 

Howl nightly in that funeral tree. 

To their wild wail the waves which break 

For ever round that lonely lake 65 

A solemn undertone shall make ! 



64 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

And who shall deem the spot unblest. 
Where Nature's younger children rest, 
Lulled on their sorrowing mother's breast? 

Deem ye that mother loveth less 70 

These bronzed forms of the wilderness 
She foldeth in her long caress? 

As sweet o'er them her wild-flowers blow 

As if with fairer hair and brow 

The blue-eyed Saxon slept below. 75 

What though the places of their rest 
No priestly knee hath ever pressed, — 
No funeral rite nor prayer hath blessed? 

What though the bigot's ban be there, 

And thoughts of wailing and despair, 80 

And cursing in the place of prayer ! 

Yet Heaven hath angels watching round 
The Indian's lowliest forest-mound, — 
And they have made it holy ground. 

There ceases man's frail judgment; all 85 

His powerless bolts of cursing fall 
Unheeded on that grassy pall. 

Oh, peeled, and hunted, and reviled. 

Sleep on, dark tenant of the wild ! 

Great Nature owns her simple child ; 90 

And Nature's God, to whom alone 
The secret of the heart is known, — 
The hidden language traced thereon • 



PENTUCKET 65 

Who from its many cumberings 

Of form and creed, and outward things, 95 

To Hght the naked spirit brings ; 

Not with our partial eye shall scan, 
Not with our pride and scorn shall ban 
The spirit of our brother man ! 



PENTUCKET 

1708 

How sweetly on the wood-girt town 

The mellow light of sunset shone ! 

Each small, bright lake, whose waters still 

Mirror the forest and the hill. 

Reflected from its waveless breast s 

The beauty of a cloudless west. 

Glorious as if a glimpse were given 

Within the western gates of heaven, 

Left, by the spirit of the star 

Of sunset's holy hour, ajar ! 10 

Beside the river's tranquil flood 

The dark and low-walled dwelUngs stood, 

Where many a rood of open land 

Stretched up and down on either hand. 

With corn-leaves waving freshly green 15 

The thick and blackened stumps between. 

Behind, unbroken, deep and dread. 

The wild, untravelled forest spread. 

Back to those mountains, white and cold, 

F 



BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Of which the Indian trapper told, 20 

Upon whose summits never yet 
Was mortal foot in safety set. 

Quiet and calm, without a fear 

Of danger darkly lurking near, 

The weary laborer left his plough, — 25 

The milkmaid carolled by her cow, — 

From cottage door and household hearth 

Rose songs of praise, or tones of mirth. 

At length the murmur died away. 

And silence on that village lay, — 30 

So slept Pompeii, ° tower and hall. 

Ere the quick earthquake swallowed all. 

Undreaming of the fiery fate 

Which made its dwellings desolate ! 

Hours passed away. By moonlight sped 35 

The Merrimack along his bed. 

Bathed in the pallid lustre, stood 

Dark cottage-wall and rock and wood, 

Silent, beneath that tranquil beam. 

As the hushed grouping of a dream. 40 

Yet on the still air crept a sound, — 

No bark of fox, nor rabbit's bound. 

Nor stir of wings, nor waters flowing. 

Nor leaves in midnight breezes blowing. 

Was that the tread of many feet, 45 

Which downward from the hillside beat? 

What forms were those which darkly stood 

Just on the margin of the wood ? — 

Charred tree-stumps in the moonlight dim. 

Or paling rude, or leafless limb? 50 



PENTUCKET 67 

No, — through the trees fierce eyeballs glowed, 
Dark human forms in moonshine showed, 
Wild from their native wilderness, 
With painted limbs and battle-dress ! 

A yell the dead might wake to hear 55 

Swelled on the night air, far and clear, — 

Then smote the Indian tomahawk 

On crashing door and shattering lock, — 

Then rang the rifle-shot, — and then 

The shrill death-scream of stricken men, — 60 

Sank the red axe in woman's brain. 

And childhood's cry arose in vain, — 

Bursting through roof and window came, 

Red, fast, and fierce, the kindled flame; 

And blended fire and moonlight glared 65 

On still dead men and weapons bared. 

The morning sun looked brightly through 

The river willows, wet with dew. 

No sound of combat filled the air, — 

No shout was heard, — nor gunshot there : 70 

Yet still the thick and sullen smoke 

From smouldering ruins slowly broke; 

And on the greensward many a stain. 

And, here and there, the mangled slain, 

Told how that midnight bolt had sped, 75 

Pentucket, on thy fated head ! 

Even now the villager can tell 

Where Rolfe beside his hearthstone fell, 

Still show the door of wasting oak. 

Through which the fatal death-shot broke. 80 



68 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

And point the curious stranger where 
De Rouville's° corse lay grim and bare, — 
Whose hideous head, in death still feared, 
Bore not a trace of hair or beard, — 
And still, within the churchyard ground, 85 

Heaves darkly up the ancient mound, 
Whose grass-grown surface overlies 
The victims of that sacrifice. 



THE EXILES^ 
1660 

The goodman sat beside his door 

One sultry afternoon. 
With his young wife singing at his side 

An old and goodly tune. 

A glimmer of heat was in the air; 

The dark green woods were still ; 
And the skirts of a heavy thunder-cloud 

Hung over the western hill. 

Black, thick, and vast arose that cloud 

Above the wilderness. 
As some dark world from upper air 

Were stooping over this. 

At times the solemn thunder pealed, 
And all was still again, 



THE EXILES CO 

Save a low murmur in the air 15 

Of coming wind and rain. 

Just as the first big rain-drop fell, 

A weary stranger came, 
And stood before the farmer's door, 

With travel soiled and lame. 20 

Sad seemed he, yet sustaining hope 

Was in his quiet glance, 
And peace, like autumn's moonlight, clothed 

His tranquil countenance. 

A look, like that his Master wore 25 

In Pilate's council hall : 
It told of wrongs, — but of a love 

Meekly forgiving all. 

"Friend! wilt thou give me shelter here?" 
The stranger meekly said; 30 

And, leaning on his oaken staff, 
The goodman's features read. 

*' My hfe is hunted, — evil men 

Are following in my track; 
The traces of the torturer's whip 35 

Are on my aged back. 

"And much, I fear, 'twill peril thee 

Within thy doors to take 
A hunted seeker of the Truth, 

Oppressed for conscience' sake." 40 



70 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Oh, kindly spoke the goodman's wife, — 
''Come in, old man !'' quoth she, — 

*' We will not leave thee to the storm, 
Whoever thou mayst be.'' 

Then came the aged wanderer in, 45 

And silent sat him down; 
While all within grew dark as night 

Beneath the storm-cloud's frown. 

But while the sudden lightning's blaze 

Filled every cottage nook, 50 

And with the jarring thunder-roll 
The loosened casements shook, 

A heavy tramp of horses' feet 

Came sounding up the lane. 
And half a score of horse, or more, 55 

Came plunging through the rain. 

" Now, Goodman Macey, ope thy door, — 
We would not be house-breakers; 

A rueful deed thou'st done this day, 

In harboring banished Quakers." 60 

Out looked the cautious goodman then 

With much of fear and awe. 
For there, with broad wig drenched with rain, 

The parish priest he saw. 

''Open thy door, thou wicked man, 65 

And let thy pastor in, 
And give God thanks, if forty stripes 

Repay thy deadly sin." 



THE EXILES 71 

"What seek ye?" quoth the goodman, — 

'' The stranger is my guest : 70 

He is worn with toil and grievous wrong, — 
Pray let the old man rest." 

''Now, out upon thee, canting knave!" 

And strong hands shook the door. 
'' BeUeve me, Macey," quoth the priest, — 75 

''Thou'lt rue thy conduct sore." 

Then kindled Macey's eye of fire : 

'' No priest who walks the earth 
Shall pluck away the stranger-guest 

Made welcome to my hearth." 80 

Down from his cottage wall he caught 

The matchlock, hotly tried 
At Preston23ans° and Marston moor, 

By fiery Ireton's° side; 

Where Puritan, ° and Cavalier, 85 

With shout and psalm contended ; 
And Rupert's ° oath, and Cromwell's prayer, 

With battle-thunder blended. 

Up rose the ancient stranger then : 

'' My spirit is not free 90 

To bring the wrath and violence 

Of evil men on thee : 

" And for thyself, I pray forbear, — 

Bethink thee of thy Lord, 
Who healed again the smitten ear,° 95 

And sheathed His follower's sword. 



72 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

" I go, as to the slaughter led : 

Friends of the poor, farewell !" 
Beneath his hand the oaken door 

Back on its hinges fell. loo 

'' Come forth, old graybeard yea and nay," 

The reckless scoffers cried, 
As to a horseman's saddle-bow 

The old man's arms were tied. 

And of his bondage hard and long 105 

In Boston's crowded jail, 
Where suffering woman's prayer was heard, 

With sickening childhood's wail, 

It suits not with our tale to tell : 

Those scenes have passed away, — no 

Let the dim shadows of the past 

Brood o'er that evil day. 

"Ho, sheriff !" quoth the ardent priest, — 

''Take Goodman Macey too; 
The sin of this day's heresy 115 

His back or purse shall rue." 

''Now, goodwife, haste thee!" Macey cried, 

She caught his manly arm : — 
Behind, the parson urged pursuit, 

With outcry and alarm. 120 

Ho ! speed the Maceys, neck or naught, — 

The river course was near : — 
The plashing on its pebbled shore 

Was music to their ear. 



THE EXILES 73 

A gray rock, tasselled o'er with birch, 125 

Above the waters hung, 
And at its base, with every wave, 

A small light wherry swung. 

A leap — they gain the boat — and there 

The goodman wields his oar : 130 

''111 luck betide them all," he cried, — 
'' The laggards upon the shore." 

Down through the crashing underwood. 

The burly sheriff came : — 
''Stand, Goodman Macey, — yield thyself; 135 

Yield in the King's own name." 

"Now out upon thy hangman's face!" 

Bold Macey answered then, — 
"Whip women, on the village green. 

But meddle not with men.'' 140 

The priest came panting to the shore, — 

His grave cocked hat was gone; 
Behind him, like some owl's nest, hung 

His wig upon a thorn. 

"Come back, — come back !" the parson cried, 145 

"The Church's curse beware." 
"Curse, an' thou wilt," said Macey, "but 

Thy blessing prithee spare." 

" Vile scoffer ! " cried the baffled priest, — 

"Thou'lt yet the gallows see." 15c 

"Who's born to be hanged will not be drowned," 
Quoth Macey, merrily; 



74 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

"And so, sir sheriff and priest, good-by!" 

He bent him to his oar. 
And the small boat glided quietly 155 

From the twain upon the shore. 

Now in the west, the heavy clouds 

Scattered and fell asunder. 
While feebler came the rush of rain, 

And fainter growled the thunder. 160 

And through the broken clouds, the sun 

Looked out serene and warm. 
Painting its holy symbol-light 

Upon the passing storm. 

Oh, beautiful ! that rainbow span, 165 

O'er dim Crane-neck ° was bended; — 

One bright foot touched the eastern hills, 
And one with ocean blended. 

By green Pentucket's southern slope 

The small boat glided fast, — 170 

The watchers of ''the Block-house" saw 

The strangers as they passed. 

That night a stalwart garrison 

Sat shaking in their shoes. 
To hear the dip of Indian oars, — 175 

The glide of birch canoes. 

The fisher-wives of Salisbury 

(The men were all away) 
Looked out to see the stranger oar 

Upon their waters play. 180 



THE EXILES 75 

Deer Island's rocks and fir-trees threw 

Their sunset-shadows o'er them, 
And Newbury's spire and weather-cock 

Peered o'er the pines before them. 

Around the Black Rocks, on their left, 185 

The marsh lay broad and green; 
And on their right, with dwarf shrubs crowned, 

Plum Island's hills were seen. 

With skilful hand and wary eye 

The harbour-bar was crossed ; — 190 

A plaything of the restless wave, 

The boat on ocean tossed. 

The glory of the sunset heaven 

On land and water lay, — 
On the steep hills of Agawam, 195 

On cape, and bluff, and bay. 

They passed the gray rocks of Cape Ann,° 

And Gloucester's° harbor-bar; 
The watch-fire of the garrison 

Shone like a setting star. 200 

How brightly broke the morning 

On Massachusetts Bay ! 
Blue wave, and bright green island, 

Rejoicing in the day. 

On passed the bark in safety 205 

Round isle and headland steep, — 
No tempest broke above them. 

No fog-cloud veiled the deep. 



76 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Far round the bleak and stormy Cape° 

The vent'rous Macey passed, 210 

And on Nantucket's° naked isle 
Drew up his boat at last. 

And how, in log-built cabin, 

They braved the rough sea-weather; 

And there, in peace and quietness, 215 

Went down life's vale together: 

How others drew around them, 

And how their fishing sped. 
Until to every wind of heaven 

Nantucket's sails were spread; 220 

How pale Want alternated 

With Plenty's golden smile; 
Behold, is it not written 

In the annals of the isle ? 

And yet that isle remaineth 225 

A refuge of the free. 
As when true-hearted Macey 

Beheld it from the sea. 

Free as the winds that winnow 

Her shrubless hills of sand, — 230 

Free as the waves that batter 

Along her yielding land. 

Than hers, at duty's summons, 

No loftier spirit stirs, — 
Nor falls o'er human suffering 235 

A readier tear than hers. 



THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA 77 

God bless the sea-beat island ! — 

And grant for evermore, 
That charity and freedom dwell 

As now upon her shore ! , 240 



THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA° 

Speak and tell us, our Ximena,° looking northward far 

away, 
O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array, 
Who is losing? who is winning? are they far or come 

they near? 
Look abroad, and tell us, sister, wdiither rolls the 

storm we hear. 

'' Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle 
rolls ; ^ 5 

Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on 
their souls !" 

Who is losing? who is winning? — ''Over hill and 
over plain, 

I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the moun- 
tain rain." 

Holy Mother ! keep our brothers ! Look, Ximena, 

look once more. 
"Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as 

before, 10 

Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, 

foot and horse. 
Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down 

its mountain course." 



78 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Look forth once more, Ximena ! '' Ah ! the smoke has 

rolled away; 
And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks 

of gray. 
Hark ! that sudden blast of bugles ! there the troop of 

Minon wheels ; 15 

There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at 

their heels. 

''Jesu, pity! how it thickens! now retreat and now 

advance ! 
Right against the blazing cannon shivers Puebla's 

charging lance ! 
Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot 

together fall ; 
Like a ploughshare in the fallow, through them ploughs 

the Northern ball." 20 

Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and 

frightful on : 
Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost, and 

who has won ? 
"Alas ! alas ! I know not; friend and foe together fall. 
O'er the dying rush the living: pray, my sisters, for 

them all ! 

" Lo ! the wind the smoke is lifting : Blessed Mother, 

save my brain ! 25 

I can see the wounded crawling slow^ly out from heaps 

of slain. 
Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall, 

and strive to rise; 
Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die 

before our eyes ! 



THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA 79 

" my heart's love ! my dear one ! lay thy poor head 

on my knee : 
Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou 

hear me ? canst thou see ? 30 

O my husband, brave and gentle ! O my Bernal, 

look once more 
On the blessed cross before thee ! Mercy ! mercy ! 

all is o'er!'' 

Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena ; lay thy dear one down 

to rest; 
Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his 

breast ; 
Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses 

said : ^ 2,s 

To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid. 

Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a 

soldier lay, 
Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow 

his life away; 
But, as tenderly before him, the lorn Ximena knelt, 
She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol-belt. 40 

With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away 
her head; 

With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her 
dead ; 

But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his strug- 
gling breath of pain, 

And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips 
again. 



80 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Whispered low the dying soldier, pressed her hand and 

faintly smiled .45 

Was that pitying face his mother's? did she watch 

beside her child? 
All his stranger words with meaning her woman's 

heart supplied; 
With her kiss upon his forehead, '' Mother !" murmured 

he, and died ! 

"A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee 

forth. 
From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping, lonely, 

in the North!" _ 5° 

Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him 

with her dead. 
And turned to soothe the living, and bind the wounds 

which bled. 

Look forth once more, Ximena ! '' Like a cloud before 

the wind 
Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and 

death behind ; 
Ah ! they plead in vain for mercy ; in the dust the 

wounded strive; S5 

Hide your faces, holy angels ! oh thou Christ of God, 

forgive!" 

Sink, O Night, among thy mountains ! let the cool, 

gray shadows fall ; 
Dying l3rothers, fighting demons, drop thy curtain 

over all ! 
Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart 

the battle rolled. 



BARCLAY OF URY 81 

In its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon's hps 
grew cold. 60 

But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pur- 
sued, 

Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn and 
faint and lacking food; 

Over weak and suffering brothers, with a tender care 
they hung, 

And the dying foeman blessed them in a strange and 
Northern tongue. 

Not wholly lost, O Father ! is this evil world of ours; 65 
Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh the 

Eden flow^ers; 
From its smoking hell of battle, Love and Pity send 

their prayer. 
And still thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our 

air! 



BARCLAY OF URY.° 

Up the streets of Aberdeen, ° 
By the kirk and college green, 

Rode the Laird of Ury; 
Close behind him, close beside, 
Foul of mouth and evil-eyed. 

Pressed the mob in fury. 

Flouted him the drunken churl, 
Jeered at him the serving-girl. 

Prompt to please her master; 

Gr 



82 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

And the begging carlin, late lo 

Fed and clothed at Ury's gate, 
Cursed him as he passed her. 

Yet, with calm and stately mien, 
Up the streets of Aberdeen 

Came he slowly riding; 15 

And, to all he saw and heard. 
Answering not with bitter word, 

Turning not for chiding. 

Came a troop with broadswords swinging. 

Bits and bridles sharply ringing, 20 

Loose and free and fro ward ; 
Quoth the foremost, ''Ride him down! 
Push him ! prick him ! through the town 

Drive the Quaker coward!'' 

But from out the thickening crowd 25 

Cried a sudden voice and loud : 

''Barclay! Ho! a Barclay!" 
And the old man at his side 
Saw a comrade, battle-tried. 

Scarred and sun-burned darkly; 30 

Who with ready weapon bare. 
Fronting to the troopers there. 

Cried aloud : " God save us, 
Call ye coward him who stood 
Ankle deep in Lutzen's blood, 35 

With the brave Gustavus?" 

" Nay, I do not need thy sword, 
Comrade mine," said Ury's lord; 



BARCLAY OF URY 83 

'^ Put it up, I pray thee : 
Passive to his holy will, 40 

Trust I in my Master still. 

Even though he slay me. 

*' Pledges of thy love and faith, 
Proved on many a field of death, 

Not by me are needed." 45 

Marvelled much that henchman bold, 
That his laird, so stout of old. 

Now so meekly pleaded. 

''Woe's the day!" he sadly said, 
With a slowly-shaking head, 5° 

And a look of pity; 
" Ury's honest lord reviled. 
Mock of knave and sport of child, 

In his own good city ! 

'' Speak the word, and, master mine, 55 

As we charged on Tilly's° line, 

And his Walloon lancers, 
Smiting through their midst we'll teach 
Civil look and decent speech 

To these boyish prancers !" 60 

''Marvel not, mine ancient friend, 
Like beginning, like the end:" 

Quoth the Laird of Ury, 
" Is the sinful servant more 
Than his gracious Lord who bore 65 

Bonds and stripes in Jewry? 

" Give me joy that in his name 
I can bear, with patient frame, 



84 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

All these vain ones offer; 
While for them He suffereth long, 70 

Shall I answer wrong with wrong, 

Scoffing with the scoffer? 

" Happier I, with loss of all, 
Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall, 

With few friends to greet me, 75 

Than when reeve and squire were seen. 
Riding out from Aberdeen, 

With bared heads to meet me. 

'' When each goodwife, o'er and o'er. 

Blessed me as I passed her door; 80 

And the snooded daughter, ° 
Through her casement glancing down, 
Smiled on him who bore renown 

From red fields of slaughter. 

" Hard to feel the stranger's scoff, 85 

Hard the old friend's falling off. 

Hard to learn forgiving : 
But the Lord his own rewards, 
And his love with theirs accords. 

Warm and fresh and living. 90 

"Through this dark and stormy night 
Faith beholds a feeble light 

Up the blackness streaking; 
Knowing God's own time is best, 
In a patient hope I rest 95 

For the full day-breaking!" 

So the Laird of Ury said, 
Turning slow his horse's head 



BARCLAY OF URY 85 

Towards the Tolbooth° prison, 
Where, through iron gates, he heard loo 

Poor disciples of the Word 

Preach of Christ arisen ! 

Not in vain, Confessor old, 
Unto us the tale is told 

Of thy day of trial ; 105 

Every age on him, who strays 
From its broad and beaten ways, 

Pours its sevenfold vial. 

Happy he whose inward ear 

Angel comfortings can hear, no 

O'er the rabble's laughter; 
And, while Hatred's fagots burn, 
Glimpses through the smoke discern 

Of the good hereafter. 

Knowing this, that never yet 115 

Share of Truth was vainly set 

In the world's wide fallow; 
After hands shall sow the seed, 
After hands from hill and mead 

Reap the harvests yellow. 120 

Thus, with somewhat of the Seer, 
Must the moral pioneer 

From the Future borrow : 
Clothe the waste with dreams of grain. 
And, on midnight's sky of rain, 125 

Paint the golden morrow ! 



86 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 



THE LEGEND OF ST. MARK° 

The day is closing dark and cold, 

With roaring blast and sleety showers; 

And through the dusk the lilacs wear 
The bloom of snow, instead of flowers. 

I turn me from the gloom without, 5 

To ponder o'er a tale of old, 
A legend of the age of Faith, 

By dreaming monk or abbess told. 

On Tintoretto's ° canvas lives 

That fancy of a loving heart, lo 

In graceful lines and shapes of power, 

And hues immortal as his art. 

In Provence ° (so the story runs) 

There lived a lord, to whom, as slave, 

A peasant boy of tender years 15 

The chance of trade or conquest gave. 

Forth-looking from the castle tower, 
Beyond the hills with almonds dark, 

The straining eye could scarce discern 

The chapel of the good St. Mark. 20 

And there, when bitter word or fare 

The service of the youth repaid. 
By stealth, before that holy shrine. 

For grace to bear his wrong, he prayed. 

The steed stamped at the castle gate, 25 

The boar-hunt sounded on the hill; 



THE LEGEND OF ST. MARK 87 

Why stayed the Baron from the chase, 
With looks so stern, and words so ill ? 

" Go, bind yon slave ! and let him learn, 

By scath of fire and strain of cord, 30 

How ill they speed who give dead saints 
The homage due their living lord !" 

They bound him on the fearful rack. 

When, through the dungeon's vaulted dark, 

He saw the light of shining robes, 35 

And knew the face of good St. Mark. 

Then sank the iron rack apart, 

The cords released their cruel clasp, 
The pincers, Avith their teeth of fire. 

Fell broken from the torturer's grasp. 40 

And lo ! before the Youth and Saint, 
Barred door and wall of stone gave way ; 

And up from bondage and the night 
They passed to freedom and the day ! 

O dreaming monk ! thy tale is true ; — 45 

O painter ! true thy pencil's art; 
In tones of hope and prophecy. 

Ye whisper to my listening heart ! 

Unheard no burdened heart's appeal 

Moans up to God's inclining ear; 5° 

Unheeded by His tender eye, 

Falls to the earth no sufferer's tear. 

For still the Lord alone is God ! 
The pomp and power of tyrant man 



88 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Are scattered at His lightest breath, 55 

Like chaff before the winnower's fan. 

Not always shall the slave uplift 
His heavy hands to Heaven in vain, 

God's angel, like the good St. Mark, 

Comes shining down to break his chain ! 60 

O weary ones ! ye may not see 

Yom^ helpers in their downward flight; 

Nor hear the sound of silver wings 

Slow beating through the hush of night ! 

But not the less gray Dothan° shone, 65 

With sunbright watchers bending low, 

That Fear's dim eye beheld alone 
The spear-heads of the Syrian foe. 

There are, who, like the Seer of old, 

Can see the helpers God has sent, 70 

And how life's rugged mountain-side 

Is white with many an angel tent ! 

They hear the heralds whom our Lord 
Sends down His pathway to prepare; 

And light, from others hidden, shines 75 

On their high place of faith and prayer. 

Let such, for earth's despairing ones. 

Hopeless, yet longing to be free. 
Breathe once again the Prophet's prayer: 

'' Lord, ope their eyes, that they may see !'' 80 



KATHLEEN 89 



KATHLEEN '^ 



O NoRAH, lay your basket down, 

And rest your weary hand, 
And come and hear me sing a song 

Of our old Ireland. 

There was a lord of Gal away, ° 5 

A mighty lord was he ; 
And he did wed a second wife, 

A maid of low degree. 

But he was old, and she was young, 

And so, in evil spite, lo 

She baked the black bread for his kin, 

And fed her own with white. 

She whipped the maids and starved the kern,° 

And drove away the poor ; 
" Ah, woe is me ! " the old lord said, 15 

" I rue my bargain sore !" 

This lord he had a daughter fair. 

Beloved of old and young. 
And nightly round the shealing-fires° 

Of her the gleeman sung. 20 

" As sweet and good is young Kathleen 

As Eve before her fall;" 
So sang the harper at the fair, 

So harped he in the hall. 

" Oh come to me, my daughter dear ! 25 

Come sit upon my knee. 



90 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

For looking in your face, Kathleen, 
Your mother's own I see !" 

He smoothed and smoothed her hair away, 

He kissed her forehead fair; 3° 

" It is my darling Mary's brow, 
It is my darling's hair !" 

Oh, then spake up the angry dame, 

"Get up, get up," quoth she; 
" I'll sell ye over Ireland, 35 

I'll sell ye o'er the sea !" 

She clipped her glossy hair away, 

That none her rank might know, 
She took away her gown of silk, 

And gave her one of tow, 4© 

And sent her down to Limerick° town. 

And to a seaman sold 
This daughter of an Irish lord 

For ten good pounds in gold. 

The lord he smote upon his breast, 45 

And tore his beard so gray; 
But he was old, and she was young, 

And so she had her way. 

Sure that same night the Banshee ° howled 

To fright the evil dame, 5° 

And fairy folks, who loved Kathleen, 
With funeral torches came. 

She watched them glancing through the trees, 
And glimmering down the hill ; 



KATHLEEN 91 

They crept before the dead-vault door, 55 

And there they all stood still ! 

"Get up, old man ! the wake-lights shine !" 

" Ye murthering witch/' quoth he, 
" So I'm rid of your tongue, I little care 

If they shine for you or me." 60 

'* Oh, whoso brings my daughter back, 

My gold and land shall have !" 
Oh, then spake up his handsome page, 

'' No gold nor land I crave ! 

" But give to me your daughter dear, 65 

Give sweet Kathleen to me ; 
Be she on sea or be she on land, 

I'll bring her back to thee." 

^' My daughter is a lady born, 

And you of low degree, 70 

But she shall be your bride the day 

You bring her back to me." 

He sailed east, he sailed west, 

And far and long sailed he. 
Until he came to Boston town, 75 

Across the great salt sea. 

" Oh, have ye seen the young Kathleen, 

The flower of Ireland? 
Ye'll know her by her eyes so blue, 

And by her snow-white hand !" 80 

Out spake an ancient man, " I know 
The maiden whom ye mean; 



92 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

I bought her of a Limerick man, 
And she is called Kathleen. 

'' No skill hath she in household work, 85 

Her hands are soft and white, 
Yet well by loving looks and ways 

She doth her cost requite." 

So up they walked through Boston town, 

And met a maiden fair, 90 

A Uttle basket on her arm 
So snowy-white and bare. 

''Come hither, child, and say hast thou 

This young man ever seen?"" 
They wept within each other's arms, 95 

The page and young Kathleen. 

" Oh give to me this darling child. 

And take my purse of gold." 
"Nay, not by me," her master said, 

"Shall sweet Kathleen be sold. 100 

" We loved her in the place of one 

The Lord hath early ta'en; 
But, since her heart's in Ireland, 

We give her back again !" 

Oh, for that same the saints in heaven 105 

For his poor soul shall pray. 
And Mary Mother wash with tears 

His heresies away. 

Sure now they dwell in Ireland, 

As you go up Claremore no 



TAULER 93 

Ye'll see their castle looking down 
The pleasant Galway shore. 

And the old lord's wife is dead and gone, 

And a happy man is he, 
For he sits beside his own Kathleen, 115 

With her darling on his knee. 

TAULER° 

Tauler, the preacher, walked, one autumn day, 
Without the walls of Strasburg, by the Rhine, 
Pondering the solemn Miracle of Life; 
As one who, wandering in a starless night. 
Feels, momently, the jar of unseen waves, 5 

And hears the thunder of an unknown sea. 
Breaking along an unimagined shore. 

And as he walked he prayed. Even the same 
Old prayer with which, for half a score of years, 
Morning, and noon, and evening, lip and heart 10 

Had groaned: ^'Have pity upon me, Lord! 
Thou seest, while teaching others, I am blind. 
Send me a man who can direct my steps !" 

Then, as he mused, he heard along his path 
A sound as of an old man's staff among 15 

The dry, dead linden-leaves ; and, looking up. 
He saw a stranger, weak, and poor, and old. 

"Peace be unto thee, father!" Tauler said, 
"God give thee a good day!" The old man raised 
Slowly his calm blue eyes. " I thank thee, son; 20 

But all my days are good, and none are ill." 



94 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Wondering thereat, the preacher spake again, 
''God give thee happy hfe.'' The old man smiled, 
" I never am unhappy." 

Tauler laid 
His hand upon the stranger's coarse gray sleeve : 25 
''Tell me, O father, what thy strange words mean. 
Surely man's days are evil, and his life 
Sad as the grave it leads to." " Nay, my son, 
Our times are in God's hands, and all our days 
Are as our needs : for shadow as for sun, 30 

For cold as heat, for want as wealth, alike 
Our thanks are due, since that is best which is; 
And that which is not, sharing not his life. 
Is evil only as devoid of good. 

And for the happiness of which I spake, 35 

I find it in submission to his will, 
And calm trust in the holy Trinity 
Of Knowledge, Goodness, and Almighty Power." 

Silently wondering, for a little space. 
Stood the great preacher; then he spake as one 40 

Who, suddenly grappling with a haunting thought 
Which long has followed, whispering through the dark 
Strange terrors, drags it, shrieking, into light : 
"What if God's will consign thee hence to Hell?" 

"Then," said the stranger, cheerily, "be it so. 45 
What Hell may be I know not ; this I know, — 
I cannot lose the presence of the Lord : 
One arm. Humility, takes hold upon 
His dear Humanity; the other, Love, 
Clasps his Divinity. So where I go 50 



TAULER 95 

He goes ; and better fire-walled Hell with Him 
Than golden-gated Paradise without." 

Tears sprang in Tauler's eyes. A sudden light, 
Like the first ray which fell on chaos, clove 
Apart the shadow wherein he had walked 55 

Darkly at noon. And, as the strange old man 
Went his slow way, until his silver hair 
Set like the white moon where the hills of vine 
Slope to the Rhine, he bowed his head and said : 
''My prayer is answered. God hath sent the man 60 
Long sought, to teach me, by his simple trust, 
Wisdom the weary schoolmen^ never knew." 

So, entering with a changed and cheerful step 
The city gates, he saw, far down the street, 
A mighty shadow break the light of noon, 65 

While tracing backward till its airy lines 
Hardened to stony plinths, he raised his eyes 
O'er broad fagade and lofty pediment. 
O'er architrave and frieze and sainted niche, 
Up the stone lace-work chiselled by the wise 70 

Erwin of Steinbach,° dizzily up to w^here 
In the noon-brightness the great Minster's tower, 
Jewelled with sunbeams on its mural crown, 
Rose like a visible prayer. '' Behold !" he said, 
'' The stranger's faith made plain before mine eyes. 75 
As yonder tower outstretches to the earth 
The dark triangle of its shade alone 
When the clear day is shining on its top. 
So, darkness in the pathway of Man's life 
Is but the shadow of God's providence, 80 

By the great Sun of Wisdom cast thereon; 
And what is dark below is light in Heaven." 



96 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 



MAUD MULLER 

Maud Muller, on a summer's day, 
Raked the meadow sweet with hay. 

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee $ 

The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But when she glanced to the far-off town, 
White from its hill-slope looking down, 

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest 

And a nameless longing filled her breast, — lo 

A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 
For something better than she had known. 

The Judge rode slowly down the lane, 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 

He drew his bridle in the shade 15 

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, 

And asked a draught from the spring that flowed 
Through the meadow across the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, 
And filled for him her small tin cup, 20 

And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare^ and her tattered gown. 



MAUD MULLER 97 

''Thanks!" said the Judge; ''a sweeter draught 
From a fairer hand was never quaffed." 

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, 25 

Of the singing birds and the humming bees ; 

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether 
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, 

And her graceful ankles bare and brown; 30 

And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 

At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 

Maud Muller looked and sighed : " Ah me ! 35 

That I the Judge's bride might be ! 

" He would dress me up in silks so fine. 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 

"My father should wear a broadcloth coat; 

My brother should sail a painted boat. 40 

" I'd dress my mother so grand and gay. 

And the baby should have a new toy each day. 

'' And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, 
And all should bless me who left our door." 

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 45 

And saw Maud Muller standing still. 

H 



98 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

^' A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 

" And her modest answer and graceful air 

Show her wise and good as she is fair. 50 

'' Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
Like her, a harvester of hay : 

" No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 

" But low of cattle and song of birds, 55 

And health and quiet and loving words." 

But he thought of his sisters proud and cold. 
And his mother vain of her rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart the Judge rode on. 

And Maud was left in the field alone. 60 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
When he hummed in Court an old love tune ; 

And the young girl mused beside the well 
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 

He wedded a wife of richest dower, 65 

Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, 
He watched a picture come and go; 

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes 

Looked out in their innocent surprise. 70 



MAUD MULLER 99 

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, 
He longed for the wayside well instead ; 

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms 
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. 

And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain, 75 
" Ah, that 1 were free again ! 

'' Free as when I rode that day, 

Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 

And many children played round her door. 80 

But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, 
Left their traces on heart and brain. 

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot 
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot. 

And she heard the little spring brook fall 85 

Over the roadside, through the wall, 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein. 

And, gazing down with timid grace. 

She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 90 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls ; 

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned, 
The tallow candle an astral burned, 



100 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

And for him who sat by the chimney lug, 95 

Dozing and grumbhng o'er pipe and mug, 

A manly form at her side she saw. 
And joy was duty and love was law. 

Then she took up her burden of life again, 

Saying only, "It might have been." loo 

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge ! 

God pity them both ! and pity us all, 
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. 

For of all sad words of tongue or pen, 105 

The saddest are these : "It might have been !" 

Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope Hes 
Deeply buried from human eyes ; 

And, in the hereafter, angels may 

Roll the stone from its grave away ! no 



THE RANGERS 

Robert Rawltn ! — Frosts were falling 
When the ranger's horn was calling 

Through the woods to Canada. 
Gone the winter's sleet and snowing. 
Gone the spring-time's bud and blowing, 
Gone the summer's harvest mowing, 



THE RANGER 101 

And again the fields are gray. 
Yet away, he's away ! 
Faint and fainter hope is growing 

In the hearts that mourn his stay. lo 

Where the Hon, crouching high on 
Abraham's rock° with teeth of iron, 

Glares o'er w^ood and wave away, 
Faintly thence, as pines far sighing. 
Or as thunder spent and dying, 15 

Come the challenge and replying. 

Come the sounds of flight and fray, 

Well-a-day ! Hope and pray ! 
Some are living, some are lying 

In their red graves far away. 20 

StraggUng rangers, w^orn with dangers, 
Homeward faring, weary strangers 

Pass the farm-gate on their way ; 
Tidings of the dead and living, 
Forest march and ambush, giving, 25 

Till the maidens leave their weaving. 

And the lads forget their play. 

" Still away, still away ! " 
Sighs a sad one, sick with grieving, 

'' Why does Robert still delay !" 3° 

Nowhere fairer, sweeter, rarer. 
Does the golden-locked fruit-bearer 

Through his painted woodlands stray, 
Than where hillside oaks and beeches 
Overlook the long, blue reaches, 35 

Silver coves and pebbled beaches, 



102 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

And green isles of Casco Bay°; 
Nowhere day, for delay, 
With a tenderer look beseeches, 

^' Let me with my charmed earth stay." 40 

On the grain-lands of the mainlands 
Stands the serried corn like trainbands, 

Plume and pennon rustling gay; 
Out at sea, the islands wooded. 
Silver birches, golden-hooded, 45 

Set with maples, crimson-blooded. 

White sea-foam and sand-hills gray, 

Stretch away, far away. 
Dim and dreamy, over-brooded 

By the hazy autumn day. > 50 

Gayly chattering to the clattering 

Of the brown nuts downward pattering 

Leap the squirrels, red and gray. 
On the grass-land, on the fallow, 
Drop the apples, red and yellow; 55 

Drop the russet pears and mellow. 

Drop the red leaves all the day. 

And away, swift away, 
Sun and cloud, o'er hill and hollow 

Chasing, weave their web of play. 60 

" Martha Mason, Martha Mason, 
Prithee tell us of the reason 

Why you mope at home to-day : 
Surely smiling is not sinning; 

Leave your quilling, leave your spinning; 65 

What is all your store of hnen. 



THE RANGER 103 

If your heart is never gay ? 
Come away, come away ! 
Never yet did sad beginning 

Make the task of hfe a play." 70 

Overbending, till she's blending 
With the flaxen skein she's tending 

Pale brown tresses smoothed away 
From her face of patient sorrow, 
Sits she, seeking but to borrow, 75 

From the trembling hope of morrow, 

Solace for the weary day. 

''Go your way, laugh and play; 
Unto Him who heeds the sparrow 

And the lily, let me pray." 80 

" With our rally, rings the valley, — 
Join us!" cried the blue-eyed Nelly; 

''Join us !" cried the laughing May, 
" To the beach we all are going, 
And, to save the task of rowing, 85 

West by north the wind is blowing, 

Blowing briskly down the bay ! 

Come away, come away ! 
Time and tide are swiftly flowing, 

Let us take them while we may ! 90 

" Never tell us that you'll fail us, 
Where the purple beach-plum mellows 

On the bluffs so wild and gray. 
Hasten, for the oars are falhng; 
Hark, our merry mates are calling; 95 

Time it is that we were all in, 



104 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Singing tideward down the bay!" 
''Nay, nay, let me stay; 
Sore and sad for Robert Rawlin 

Is my heart/' she said, '' to-day." loo 

'' Vain your caUing for Rob RawUn ! 
Some red squaw his moose-meat's broihng 

Or some French lass, singing gay; 
Just forget as he's forgetting ; 
What avails a life of fretting ? 105 

If some stars must needs be setting, 

Others rise as good as they." 

'' Cease, I pray ; go your way !" 
Martha cries, her eyelids wetting ; 

'' Foul and false the words you say !" no 

'' Martha Mason, hear to reason ! 
Prithee, put a kinder face on ! " 

''Cease to vex me," did she say; 
" Better at his side be lying, 

With the mournful pine-trees sighing, 115 

And the wild birds o'er us crying, 

Than to doubt Uke mine a prey ; 

While away, far away. 
Turns my heart, for ever trying 

Some new hope for each new day. 120 

" When the shadows veil the meadows. 
And the sunset's golden ladders 

Sink from twilight's walls of gray, — 
From the window of my dreaming, 
I can see his sickle gleaming, 125 

Cheery-voiced, can hear him teaming 



THE RANGER 105 

Down the locust-shaded way ; 
But away, swift away, 
Fades the fond, delusive seeming, 

And I kneel again to pray. 130 

'' When the growing dawn is showing, 
And the barn-yard cock is crowing. 

And the horned moon pales away : 
From a dream of him awaking. 
Every sound my heart is making 135 

Seeftis a footstep of his taking; 

Then I hush the thought, and say, 

'Nay, nay, he's away!' 
Ah ! my heart, my heart is breaking 

For the dear one far away." 140 

Look up, Martha ! worn and swarthy, 
Glows a face of manhood worthy : 

'' Robert ! " '' Martha ! " all they say. 
O'er went wheel and reel together. 
Little cared the owner whither; 145 

Heart of lead is heart of feather. 

Noon of night is noo-n of day ! 

Come away, come away ! 
When such lovers meet each other, 

Why should prying idlers stay ? 150 

Quench the timber's fallen embers. 
Quench the red leaves in December's 

Hoary rime and chilly spray. 
But the hearth shall kindle clearer. 
Household welcomes sound sincerer, 155 

Heart to loving heart grow nearer, 



106 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

When the bridal bells shall say : 
''Hope and pray, trust alway; 
Life is sweeter, love is dearer, 

For the trial and delay !" i6o 

PROEM TO HOME BALLADS 

I CALL the old time back : I bring these lays 
To thee, in memory of the summer days 
When, by our native streams and forest ways, 
We dreamed them over; while the rivulets made 
Songs of their own, and the great pine-trees laid 5 

On warm noon-lights the masses of their shade. 

And she was with us, living o'er again 

Her life in ours, despite of years and pain, — 

The autumn's brightness after latter rain. 

Beautiful in her holy peace as one 10 

Who stands, at evening, when the work is done, 

Glorified in the setting of the sun ! 

Her memory makes our common landscape seem 

Fairer than any of which painters dream, 

Lights the brown hills and sings in every stream ; 15 

For she whose speech was always truth's pure gold 

Heard, not unpleased, its simple legends told, 

And loved with us the beautiful and old. 



THE WITCH'S DAUGHTERS 

It was the pleasant harvest time. 
When cellar-bins are closely stowed. 
And garrets bend beneath their load. 



THE WITCH'S DAUGHTER 107 

And the old swallow-haunted bams — 

Brown-gabled, long, and full of seams 5 

Through wdiich the moted sunlight streams, 

And winds blow freshly in, to shake 
The red plumes of the roosted cocks. 
And the loose hay-mow's scented locks — 

Are filled with summer's ripened stores, lo 

Its odorous grass and barley sheaves. 
From their low scaftolds to their eaves. 

On Esek Harden's oaken floor, 

With many an autumn threshing worn, 

Lay the heaped ears of unhusked corn. 15 

And thither came young men and maids, 
Beneath a moon that, large and low 
Lit that sweet eve of long ago. 

They took their places ; some by chance. 

And others by a merry voice 20 

Or sweet smile guided to their choice. 

How pleasantly the rising moon, 
Between the shadow of the mows, 
Looked on them through the great elm-boughs ! — 



On sturdy boyhood sun-embrowned, 25 

On girlhood with its solid curves 
Of healthful strength and painless nerves ! 

And jest went round, and laughs that made 
The house-dog answer with his howl. 
And kept astir the barn-yard fowl ; 30 



108 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

And quaint old songs their fathers sung, 
In Derby dales and Yorkshire ° moors, 
Ere Norman William ° trod their shores ; 

And tales, whose merry license shook 

The fat sides of the Saxon thane, ° 35 

Forgetful of the hovering Dane°! 

But still the sweetest voice was mute 
That river valley ever heard 
From lip of maid or throat of bird ; 

For Mabel Martin sat apart, 40 

And let the hay-mow's shadow fall 
Upon the loveliest face of all. 

She sat apart, as one forbid. 

Who knew that none would condescend 

To own the Witch-wife's child a friend. 45 

The seasons scarce had gone their round. 
Since curious thousands thronged to see 
Her mother on the gallows-tree; 

And mocked the palsied limbs of age, 

That faltered on the fatal stairs, 50 

And wan lip trembling with its prayers ! 

Few questioned of the sorrowing child, 
Or, when they saw the mother die. 
Dreamed of the daughter's agony. 

They went up to their homes that day, 55 

As men and Christians justified: 
God willed it, and the wretch had died ! 



THE WITCHES DAUGHTER 109 

Dear God and Father of us all, 
Forgive our faith in cruel lies, — 
Forgive the blindness that denies ! 60 

Forgive Thy creature when he takes 
For the all-perfect love Thou art, 
Some grim creation of his heart. 

Cast down our idols, overturn 

Our bloody altars ; let us see 65 

Thyself in Thy humanity ! 

Poor Mabel from her mother's grave 
Crept to her desolate hearth-stone, 
And wrestled with her fate alone ; 

With love, and anger, and despair, 70 

The phantoms of disordered sense. 
The awful doubts of Providence ! 

The schoolboys jeered her as they passed, 
And, when she sought the house of prayer, 
Her mother's curse pursued her there. 75 

And still o'er many a neighboring door 
She saw the horseshoe's curved charm, 
To guard against her mother's harm ; — 

That mother, poor, and sick, and lame, 

Who daily, by the old armchair, 80 

Folded her withered hands in prayer ; — 

Who turned, in Salem's dreary jail,® 
Her worn old Bible o'er and o'er, 
When her dim eyes could read no more ! 



110 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Sore tried and pained, the poor girl kept 85 

Her faith, and trusted that her way. 
So dark, would somewhere meet the day. 

And still her weary wheel went round 
Day after day, with no rehef ; 
Small leisure have the poor for grief. 90 

So in the shadow Mabel sits; 

Untouched by mirth she sees and hears. 
Her smile is sadder than her tears. 

But cruel eyes have found her out, 

And cruel hps repeat her name, 95 

And taunt her with her mother's shame. 

She answered not with railing words, 
But drew her apron o'er her face. 
And, sobbing, glided from the place. 

And only pausing at the door, 100 

Her sad eyes met the troubled gaze 
Of one who, in her better days. 

Had been her warm and steady friend. 
Ere yet her mother's doom had made 
Even Esek Harden half afraid. 105 

He felt that mute appeal of tears. 
And, starting, with an angry frown 
Hushed all the wicked murmurs down. 

"Good neighbors mine," he sternly said, 

" This passes harmless mirth or jest ; no 

I brook no insult to my guest. 



THE WITCHES DAUGHTER 111 

" She is indeed her mother's child ; 
But God's sweet pity ministers 
Unto no whiter soul than hers. 

" Let Goody Martin rest in peace ; 115 

I never knew her harm a fly, 
And witch or not, God knows, — not I. 

"I know w^ho swore her life away; 
And, as God lives, I'd not condemn 
An Indian dog on word of them." 120 

The broadest lands in all the town, 
The skill to guide, the power to awe. 
Were Harden 's ; and his word was law. 

None dared withstand him to his face, 

But one sly maiden spake aside : 125 

^^The Uttle witch is evil-eyed ! 

" Her mother only killed a cow, 
Or watched a churn or dairy-pan ; 
But she, forsooth, must charm a man!" 

Poor Mabel, in her lonely home, 130 

Sat by the window's narrow pane, 
White in the moonlight's silver rain. 

The river, on its pebbled rim. 

Made music such as childhood knew; 

The door-yard tree was whispered through 135 

By voices such as childhood's ear 
Had heard in moonhghts long ago; 
And through the willow-boughs below 



112 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

She saw the rippled waters shine ; 

Beyond, in waves of shade and hght 140 

The hills rolled off into the night. 

Sweet sounds and pictures mocking so 
The sadness of her human lot, 
She saw and heard, but heeded not. 

She strove to drown her sense of wrong, 145 

And, in her old and simple way. 
To teach her bitter heart to pray. 

Poor child ! the prayer, begun in faith, 
Grew to a low, despairing cry 
Of utter misery : " Let me die ! 150 

" Oh ! take me from the scornful eyes. 
And hide me where the cruel speech 
And mocking finger may not reach ! 

" I dare not breathe my mother's name 

A daughter's right I dare not crave 155 

To weep above her unblest grave ! 

" Let me not hve until my heart. 
With few to pity, and with none 
To love me, hardens into stone. 

" God ! have mercy on Thy child, 160 

Whose faith in Thee grows weak and small, 
And take me ere I lose it all !" 

A shadow on the moonlight fell. 

And murmuring wind and wave became 

A voice whose burden was her name. 165 



THE WITCH'S DAUGHTER 113 

Had then God heard her ? Had He sent 
His angel down ? In flesh and blood, 
Before her Esek Harden stood ! 

He laid his hand upon her arm : 

" Dear Mabel, this no more shall be ; 170 

Who scoffs at you, must scoff at me. 

" You know rough Esek Harden well ; 
And if he seems no suitor gay, 
'And if his hair is touched with gray, 

"The maiden grown shall never find 175 

His heart less warm than when she smiled, 
Upon his knees, a httle child !" 

Her tears of grief were tears of joy. 
As, folded in his strong embrace. 
She looked in Esek Harden's face. 180 

"0 truest friend of all !" she said, 

'' God bless you for your kindly thought, 
And make me worthy of my lot ! " 

He led her through his dewy fields. 

To where the swinging lanterns glowed, 185 

And through the doors the buskers showed. 

"Good friends and neighbors!" Esek said, 
" I'm weary of this lonely life; 
In Mabel see my chosen wife ! 

" She greets you kindly, one and all ; 190 

The past is past, and all offence 
Falls harmless from her innocence. 



114 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

"Henceforth she stands no more alone; 
You know what Esek Harden is : — 
He brooks no wrong to him or his." 195 

Now let the merriest tales be told, 
And let the sweetest songs be sung 
That ever made the old heart young ! 

For now the lost has found a home ; 

And a lone hearth shall brighter burn, 200 

As all the household joys return ! 

Oh, pleasantly the harvest moon. 
Between the shadow of the mows, 
Looked on them through the great elm-boughs ! 

On Mabel's curls of golden hair, 205 

On Esek's shaggy strength it fell; 
And the wind whispered, '' It is well !" 

THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN° 

From the hills of home forth looking, far beneath the 

tent-like span 
Of the sky', I see the white gleam of the headland of 

Cape Ann. 
Well I know its coves and beaches to the ebb-tide 

glimmering down, 
And the white-walled hamlet children of its ancient 

hshing-town. 

Long has passed the summer morning, and its memory 
waxes old, 5 



THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN 115 

When along yon breezy headlands with a pleasant 

friend I strolled. 
Ah ! the autumn sun is shining, and the ocean wind 

blows cool, 
And the golden-rod and aster bloom around thy grave, 

Rantoul°! 

With the memory of that morning by the summer sea 

I blend 
A wild and wondrous story, by the younger Mather 

penned, lo 

In that quaint Magnalia Christi° with all strange and 

marvellous things. 
Heaped up, huge and undigested, like the chaos Ovid° 

sings. 

Dear to me these far, faint glimpses of the dual life 

of old. 
Inward, grand with awe and reverence; outward, 

mean and coarse and cold; 
Gleams of mystic beauty playing over dull and vulgar 

clay ; 15 

Golden-threaded fancies weaving in a web of hodden 

gray. 

The great eventful Present hides the Past ; but through 

the din 
Of its loud life hints and echoes from the life behind 

steal in; 
And the lore of home and fireside, and the legendary 

rhyme, 
Make the task of duty lighter which the true man owes 

his time, 20 



116 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

So, with something of the feehng which the Covenanter ° 
knew, 

Wlien with pious chisel wandering Scotland's moor- 
land graveyards through, 

From the graves of old traditions I part the blackberry- 
vines. 

Wipe the moss from off the headstones, and retouch 
the faded lines. 



Where the sea-waves back and forward, hoarse with 
rolling pebbles, ran, 25 

The garrison-house stood watching on the gray rocks 
of Cape Ann ; 

On its windy site uplifting gabled roof and palisade, 

And rough walls of unhewn timber with the moonlight 
overlaid. 

On his slow round walked the sentry, south and east- 
ward looking forth. 

O'er a rude and broken coast-line, white with breakers 
stretching north, — 30 

Wood and rock and gleaming sand-drift, jagged capes, 
with bush and tree. 

Leaning inland from the smiting of the wild and gusty 
sea. 

Before the deep-mouthed chimney, dimly lit by dying 

brands, 
Twenty soldiers sat and waited, with their muskets 

in their hands ; 
On the rough-hewn oaken table the venison haunch 

was shared, 35 



THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN 117 

And the pewter tankard circled slowly round from 
beard to beard. 

Long they sat and talked together, — talked of wiz- 
ards Satan-sold; 

Of all ghostly sights and noises, — signs and wonders 
manifold ; 

Of the spectre-ship of Salem, with the dead men in 
her shrouds, 

Sailing sheer above the water in the loom of morning 
clouds ; 40 

Of the marvellous valley hidden in the depths of 

Gloucester woods, 
Full of plants that love the summer, — blooms of 

warmer latitudes ; 
Where the Arctic birch is braided by the tropic's 

flowery vines, 
And the white magnolia-blossoms star the twilight of 

the pines ! 

But their voices sank yet lower, sank to husky tones 
of fear, 45 

As they spake of present tokens of the powers of evil 
near; 

Of a spectral host, defying stroke of steel and aim of 
gun; 

Never yet was ball to slay them in the mould of mor- 
tals run ! 

Thrice, with plumes and flowing scalp-locks, from the 
midnight wood they came, — 

Thrice around the block-house marching, met, un- 
harmed, its volleyed flame; 50 



118 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Then, with mocking laugh and gesture, sunk in earth 

or lost in air. 
All the ghostly wonder vanished, and the moonlit 

sands lay bare. 

Midnight came; from out the forest moved a dusky 
mass that soon 

Grew to warriors, plumed and painted, grimly march- 
ing in the moon. 

"Ghosts or witches," said the captain, "thus I foil 
the Evil One!" 55 

And he rammed a silver button, from his doublet, 
down his gun. 

Once again the spectral horror moved the guarded 

wall about ; 
Once again the levelled muskets through the palisades 

flashed out. 
With that deadly aim the squirrel on his tree-top might 

not shun, 
Nor the beach-bird seaward flying with his slant wing 

to the sun. 60 

Like the idle rain of summer sped the harmless shower 
of lead. 

With a laugh of fierce derision, once again the phan- 
toms fled ; 

Once again, without a shadow on the sands the moon- 
light lay. 

And the white smoke curling through it drifted slowly 
down the bay ! 

"God preserve us!" said the captain; "never mortal 
foes were there : 65 



THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN 119 

They have vanished with their leader, Prince and 

Power of the air ! 
Lay aside your useless weapons; skill and prowess 

naught avail ; 
They Avho do the devil's service wear their master's 

coat of mail !" 

So the night grew near to cock-crow, when again a 

warning call 
Roused the score of weary soldiers watching round the 

dusky hall : 70 

And they looked to flint and priming, and they longed 

for break of day; 
But the captain closed his Bible: ''Let us cease from 

man, and pray !" 

To the men who went before us, all the unseen powers 
seemed near. 

And their steadfast strength of courage struck its roots 
in holy fear. 

Every hand forsook the musket, every head was bowed 
and bare, 75 

Every stout knee pressed the flagstones, as the cap- 
tain led in prayer. 

Ceased thereat the mystic marching of the spectres 
round the wall. 

But a sound abhorred, unearthly, smote the ears and 
hearts of all, — 

Howls of rage and shrieks of anguish ! Never after 
mortal man 

Saw the ghostly leaguers marching round the block- 
house of Cape Ann. 80 



120 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

So to US who walk in summer through the cool and sea- 
blown town, 

From the childhood of its people comes the solemn 
legend down. 

Not in vain the ancient fiction, in whose moral lives 
the youth 

And the fitness and the freshness of an undecaying 
truth. 

Soon or late to all our dwellings come the spectres of 
the mind, 85 

Doubts and fears and dread forebodings, in the dark- 
ness undefined ; 

Round us throng the grim projections of the heart and 
of the brain, 

And our pride of strength is weakness, and the cun- 
ning hand is vain. 

In the dark we cry like children; and no answer from 

on high 
Breaks the crystal spheres of silence, and no white 

wings downward fly; 90 

But the heavenly help w^e pray for comes to faith, and 

not to sight. 
And our prayers themselves drive backward all the 

spirits of the night ! 



SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE° 

Of all the rides since the birth of time, 
Told in story or sung in rhyme, — 
On Apuleius's Golden AsS;° 



SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE 121 

Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass,° 

Witch astride of a human back, 5 

Islam's prophet on Al-Borc4k,° — 

The strangest ride that ever was sped 

Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead ! 
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart lo 
By the women of Marblehead ! 

Body of turkey, head of owl, 

Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl, 

Feathered and ruffled in every part, 

Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. 15 

Scores of women, old and young. 

Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue, 

Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, 

Shouting and singing the shrill refrain : 

'' Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 20 

Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead !" 

Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, 

Girls in bloom of cheek and hps. 

Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase 25 

Bacchus ° round some antique vase, 

Brief of skirt, with ankles bare. 

Loose of kerchief and loose of hair. 

With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang. 

Over and over the Msenads° sang: 30 

'' Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead!" 



122 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Small pity for him ! — He sailed away 
From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay,° — 35 

Sailed away from a sinking wreck, 
With his own town's-people on her deck ! 
" Lay by ! lay by !" they called to him. 
Back he answered, " Sink or swim ! 
Brag of yom- catch of fish again !" 40 

And off he sailed through the fog and rain ! 
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 

Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur 45 

That wreck shall lie for evermore. 
Mother and sister, wife and maid. 
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead 
Over the moaning and rainy sea, — 
Looked for the coming that might not be ! 50 

What did the winds and the sea-birds say 
Of the cruel captain who sailed away ? — 
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 55 

Through the street, on either side. 
Up flew windows, doors swung wide ; 
Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, 
Treble lent the fish-horn's bray. 
Sea- worn grandsires, cripple-bound, 60 

Hulks of old sailors run aground. 
Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane. 
And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain : 
" Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 



SKIPPER IRES ON' S RIDE 123 

Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 65 

By the women o' Morble'ead !" 

Sweetly along the Salem road 

Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. 

Little the wicked skipper knew 

Of the fields so green and the sky so blue. 70 

Riding there in his sorry trim, 

Like an Indian idol glum and grim, 

Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear 

Of voices shouting, far and near : 

" Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 75 

Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead !" 

^' Hear me, neighbors !" at last he cried, — 

*^What to me is this noisy ride? 

What is the shame that clothes the skin 80 

To the nameless horror that lives within ! 

Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck, 

And hear a cry from a reeling deck ! 

Hate me and curse me, — I only dread 

The hand of God and the face of the dead !" 85 

Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 

Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea 

Said, '' God has touched him ! — why should we?" 90 

Said an old wife mourning her only son, 

"Cut the rogue's tether and let him run !" 

So with soft relentings and rude excuse, 

Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, 



124 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

And gave him a cloak to hide him in, 95 

And left him alone with his shame and sin. 
Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 



TELLING THE BEES° 

Here is the place °; right over the hill 

Runs the path I took : 
You can see the gap in the old wall still, 

And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook. 

There is the house, with the gate red-barred, 5 

And the poplars tall ; 
And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard, 

And the white horns tossing above the wall. 

There are the beehives ranged in the sun; 

And down by the brink 10 

Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun, 

Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink. 

A year has gone, as the tortoise goes, 

Heavy and slow ; 
And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows, 15 

And the same brook sings of a year ago. 

There's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze ; 

And the June sun warm 
Tangles his wings of fire in the trees. 

Setting, as then, over Fernside farm. 20 



TELLING THE BEES 125 

I mind me how with a lover's care 

From my Sunday coat 
I brushed off the burs, and smoothed my hair, 

And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat. 

Since we parted, a month had passed, 25 

To love, a year; 
Down through the beeches I looked at last 

On the little red gate and the well-sweep near. 

I can see it all now, — the slantwise rain 

Of hght through the leaves, 30 

The sundown's blaze on her window-pane. 
The bloom of her roses under the eaves. 

Just the same as a month before, — 

The house and the trees. 
The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door, — 35 

Nothing changed but the hives of bees. 

Before them, under the garden w^all. 

Forward and back. 
Went drearily singing the chore-girl ^ small, 

Draping each hive with a shred of black. 40 

Trembling, I listened : the summer sun 

Had the chill of snow ; 
For I knew she was telling the bees of one 

Gone on the journey we all must go ! 

Then I said to myself, '' ^ly Mary weeps 45 

For the dead to-day : 

^ The chore-girl is the one who does odd jobs — " chores " — about 
the house, the same as the EngUsh charwornan. 



126 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps 
The fret and the pain of his age away." 

But her dog whined low ; on the doorway sill, 

With his cane to his chin, 
The old man sat ; and the chore-girl still 

Sung to the bees stealing out and in. 



5° 



And the song she was singing ever since 

In my ears sounds on : — 
" Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence ! 55 

Mistress Mary is dead and gone !" 



THE SYCAMORES 

In the outskirts of the village, 
On the river's winding shores, 

Stand the Occidental plane-trees, 
Stand the ancient sycamores. 

One long century hath been numbered, 

And another half-way told. 
Since the rustic Irish gleeman 

Broke from them the virgin mould. 

Deftly set to Celtic ° music. 

At his violin's sound they grew. 

Through the moonlit eves of summer, 
Making Amphion's° fable true. 

Rise again, thou poor Hugh Tallant ! ° 
Pass in jerkin green along, 



THE SYCAMORES 127 

With thy eyes brimful of laughter, 15 

And thy mouth as full of song. 

Pioneer of Erin's outcasts, 

With his fiddle and his pack ; 
Little dreamed the village Saxons 

Of the myriads at his back. 20 

How he wrought with spade and fiddle, 
Delved by day and sang by night. 

With a hand that never wearied, 
And a heart forever light, — 

Still the gay tradition mingles 25 

With a record grave and drear, 
Like the rolic air of Cluny, 

With the solemn march of Mear.° 

When the box-tree, white with blossoms, 
Made the sweet May w^oodlands glad, 30 

And the Aronia by the river 
Lighted up the swarming shad. 

And the bulging nets swept shoreward. 

With their silver-sided haul, 
Midst the shouts of dripping fishers, 35 

He was merriest of them all. 

When, among the jovial buskers, 

Love stole in at Labor's side 
With the lusty airs of England 

Soft his Celtic measures vied. 40 

Songs of love and wailing lyke-wake, 
And the merry fair's carouse ; 



128 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Of the wild Red Fox of Erin 
And the Woman of Three Cows. 

By the blazing hearths of winter, 4S 

Pleasant seemed his simple tales, 

Midst the grimmer Yorkshire° legends 
And the mountain myths of Wales. 

How the souls in Purgatory 

Scrambled up from fate forlorn, so 

On St. Keven's° sackcloth ladder, 

Slyly hitched to Satan's horn. 

Of the fiddler who at Tara° 

Played all night to ghosts of kings; 

Of the brown dwarfs, and the fairies 55 

Dancing in their moorland rings ! 

Jolliest of our birds of singing, 

Best he loved the Bob-o-link. 
" Hush !" he'd say, " the tipsy fairies ! 

Hear the little folks in drink !" 60 

Merry-faced, with spade and fiddle, 
Singing through the ancient town, 

Only this, of poor Hugh Tallant, 
Hath Tradition handed down. 

Not a stone his grave discloses; 65 

But if yet his spirit walks, 
'Tis beneath the trees he planted. 

And when Bob-o-Lincoln talks ; 

Green memorials of the gleeman ! 

Linking still the river-shores, 70 



THE SYCAMOKES 129 

With their shadows cast by sunset, 
Stand Hugh Tallant's sycamores ! 

When the Father of his Country 

Through the north-land riding came, 

And the roofs were starred with banners, 75 
And the steeples rang acclaim, — 

When each war-scarred Continental, 

Leaving smithy, mill, and farm. 
Waved his rustic sword in welcome. 

And shot off his old king's arm, — 80 

Slowly passed that august Presence 

Down the thronged and shouting street; 

Village girls as white as angels. 
Scattering flowers around his feet. 

Midway, where the plane-tree's shadow 85 

Deepest fell, his rein he drew : 
On his stately head, uncovered. 

Cool and soft the west-wind blew. 

And he stood up in his stirrups. 

Looking up and looking down 90 

On the hills of Gold and Silver 

Rimming round the little town, — 

On the river, full of sunshine, 

To the lap of greenest vales 
Winding down from wooded headlands, 95 

Willow-skirted, white with sails. 

And he said, the landscape sweeping 
Slowly with his ungloved hand, 



130 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

'' I have seen no prospect fairer 

In this goodly Eastern land." loo 

Then the bugles of his escort 

Stirred to life the cavalcade : 
And that head, so bare and stately, 

Vanished down the depths of shade. 

Ever since, in town and farm-house, 105 

Life has had its ebb and flow ; 

Thrice hath passed the human harvest 
To its garner green and low. 

But the trees the gleeman planted. 

Through the changes, changeless stand; no 

As the marble calm of Tadmor 
Marks ° the desert's shifting sand. 

Still the level moon at rising 
Silvers o'er each stately shaft; 

Still beneath them, half in shadow, 115 

Singing, glides the pleasure craft. 

Still beneath them, arm-enfolded, 
Love and Youth together stray ; 

While, as heart to heart beats faster, 

More and more their feet delay. 120 

Where the ancient cobbler, Keezar,° 

On the open hillside wrought. 
Singing, as he drew his stitches, 

Songs his German masters taught. 

Singing, with his gray hair floating 125 

Round his rosy ample face, — 



THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE OF NEWBURY 131 

Now a thousand Saxon craftsmen 
Stitch and hammer in his place. 

All the pastoral lanes so grassy 

Now are Traffic's dusty streets ; 130 

From the village, grown a city, 

Fast the rural grace retreats. 

But, still green, and tall, and stately, 

On the river's winding shores. 
Stand the Occidental plane-trees, 135 

Stand Hugh Tallant's sycamores. 



THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE° OF NEWBURY 

"Concerning y^ Amphisbsena, as soon as I received your commands, 
I made diligent inquiry : ... he assured me y' it had really two 
heads, one at each end ; two mouths, two stings or tongues." — Rev. 
Christopher Toppan to Cotton Mather. 

Far away in the twilight time 
Of every people, in every clime. 
Dragons and griffins and monsters dire, 
Born of water, and air, and fire, 
Or nursed, like the Python, ° in the mud 5 

And ooze of the old Deucalion ° flood, 
Crawl and wriggle and foam with rage, 
Through dusk tradition and ballad age. 
So from the childhood of Newbury ° town 
And its time of fable the tale comes down 10 
Of a terror which haunted bush and brake, 
The Amphisbsena, the Double Snake ! 

Thou who makest the tale thy mirth. 
Consider that strip of Christian earth 



132 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

On the desolate shore of a sailless sea, 

Full of terror and mystery, 

Half redeemed from the evil hold 

Of the wood so dreary, and dark, and old, 

Which drank with its lips of leaves the dew 

When Time was yomig, and the world was new, 

And wove its shadows with sun and moon. 

Ere the stones of Cheops ° were squared and hewn. 

Think of the sea's dread monotone. 

Of the mournful wail from the pine-wood blown, 

Of the strange, vast splendors that lit the North, 

Of the troubled throes of the quaking earth. 

And the dismal tales the Indian told. 

Till the settler's heart at his hearth grew cold, 

And he shrank from the tawny wizard's boasts. 

And the hovering shadows seemed full of ghosts, 

And above, below, and on every side. 

The fear of his creed seemed verified ; — 

And think, if his lot were now thine own. 

To grope with terrors nor named nor known. 

How laxer muscle and weaker nerve 

And a feebler faith thy need might serve; 

And own to thyself the wonder more 

That the snake had two heads, and not a score ! 

Whether he lurked in the Oldtown fen 

Or the gray earth-flax of the Devil's Den, 

Or swam in the wooded Artichoke, 

Or coiled by the Northman's Written Rock,° 

Nothing on record is left to show ; 

Only the fact that he lived, we know. 

And left the cast of a double head 

In the scaly mask which he yearly shed. 



THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE OF NEWBURY 133 

For he carried a head where his tail should be, 

And the two, of course, could never agree, 

But wriggled about with main and might, 

Now to the left and now to the right ; 50 

Pulling and twisting this way and that. 

Neither knew what the other was at. 

A snake with two heads, lurking so near ! — 

Judge of the wonder, guess at the fear ! 

Think what ancient gossips might say, 55 

Shaking their heads in their dreary way, 

Between the meetings on Sabbath-day ! 

How urchins, searching at day's decline 

The Common Pasture ° for sheep o^' kine, 

The terrible double-ganger heard 60 

In leafy rustle or whir of bird ! 

Think what a zest it gave to the sport, 

In berry-time, of the younger sort. 

As over pastures blackberry-twined, 

Reuben and Dorothy lagged behind, 65 

And closer and closer, for fear of harm. 

The maiden clung to her lover's arm; 

And how the spark, who was forced to stay. 

By his sweetheart's fears, till the break of day, 

Thanked the snake for the fond delay ! 70 

Far and wide the tale was told. 

Like a snowball growing while it rolled. 

The nurse hushed with it the baby's cry; 

And it served, in the worthy minister's eye, 

To paint the primitive serpent by. 75 

Cotton Mather ° came galloping down 

All the way to Newbury town, 



134 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

With his eyes agog and his ears set wide, 

And his marvellous inkhorn at his side; 

Stirring the while in the shallow pool 80 

Of his brains for the lore he learned at school, 

To garnish the story, with here a streak 

Of Latin, and there another of Greek : 

And the tales he heard and the notes he took, 

Behold ! are they not in his Wonder-Book ? . 85 

Stories, like dragons, are hard to kill. 

If the snake does not, the tale runs still 

In Byfield Meadows, on Pipestave Hill. 

And still, whenever husband and wife 

Publish the shame of their daily strife, 90 

And, with mad cross-purpose, tug and strain, 

At either end of the marriage-chain. 

The gossips say, with a knowing shake 

Of their gray heads, *' Look at the Double Snake ! 

One in body and two in will, 95 

The Amphisbsena is living still!" 



THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY 

When the reaper's task was ended, and the summer 

wearing late, 
Parson Avery sailed from Newbury, with his wife and 

children eight. 
Dropping down the river-harbor in the shallop 

"Watch and Wait." 

Pleasantly lay the clearings in the mellow summer- 
morn, 



THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY 135 

With the newly-planted orchards dropping their fruits 
first-born, 5 

And the homesteads like green islands amid a sea of 
corn. 

Broad meadows reached out seaw^ard the tided creeks 

between, 
And hills rolled wave-like inland, with oaks and walnuts 

green ; — 
A fairer home, a goodlier land, his eyes had never seen. 

Yet away sailed Parson Avery, away wliere duty led, lo 
And the voice of God seemed calling, to break the living 

bread 
To the souls of fishers starving on the rocks of Marble- 
head. 

All day they sailed: at nightfall the pleasant land- 
breeze died. 

The blackening sky, at midnight, its starry lights 
denied. 

And far and low the thunder of tempest prophesied ! 15 

Blotted out were all the coast-lines, gone were rock, 

and wood, and sand; 
Grimly anxious stood the skipper with the rudder in 

his hand, 
And questioned of the darkness what was sea and 

what was land. 

And the preacher heard his dear ones, nestled round 

him, weeping sore : 

" Never heed, my little children ! Christ is walking 

on before 20 



136 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

To the pleasant land of heaven, where the sea shall be 



All at once the great cloud parted, like a curtain drawn 

aside, 
To let down the torch of lightning on the terror far 

and wide; 
And the thunder and the whirlwind together smote 

the tide. 

There was wailing in the shallop, woman's wail and 
man's despair, 25 

A crash of breaking timbers on the rocks so sharp and 
bare. 

And, through it all, the murmur of Father Avery's 
prayer. 

From his struggle in the darkness with the wild waves 

and the blast. 
On a rock, where every billow broke above him as it 

passed. 
Alone, of all his household, the man of God was cast. 30 

There a comrade heard him praying, in the pause of 

wave and wind : 
"All my own have gone before me, and I linger just 

behind ; 
Not for life I ask, but only for the rest Thy ransomed 

find! 

'' In this night of death I challenge the promise of Thy 

word ! — 
Let me see the great salvation of which mine ears have 

heard ! — 35 



THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY 137 

Let me pass from hence forgiven, through the grace of 
Christ, our Lord ! 

'' In the baptism of these waters wash white my every 

sin, 
And let me follow up to Thee my household and my kin ! 
Open the sea-gate of Thy heaven, and let me enter in !" 

When the Christian sings his death-song, all the listen- 
ing heavens draw near, 4© 
And the angels, leaning over the walls of crystal, hear 
How the notes so faint and broken swell to music in 
God's ear. 

The ear of God was open to His servant's last request; 
As the strong waves swept him downward the sweet 

hymn upward pressed. 
And the soul of Father Avery went, singing, to its 

rest. 45 

There was waihng on the mainland, from the rocks of 

Marblehead ; 
In the stricken church of Newbury the notes of prayer 

were read; 
And long, by board and hearthstone, the living mourned 

the dead. 

And still the hshers outbound, or scudding from the 
squal) , 

With grave and reverend faces, the ancient tale re- 
call, 5° 

When they see the white waves breaking on the Rock 
of Avery's Fall ! 



138 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

THE TRUCE OF PISCATAQUA ° 

1675 

Raze these long blocks of brick and stone, 

These huge mill-monsters overgrown; 

Blot out the humbler piles as well, 

Where, moved like living shuttles, dwell 

The weaving genii of the bell ; 5 

Tear from the wild Cocheco's° track 

The dams that hold its torrents back; 

And let the loud-rejoicing fall 

Plunge, roaring, down its rocky wall; 

And let the Indian's paddle play lo 

On the unbridged Piscataqua°! 

Wide over hill and valley spread 

Once more the forest, dusk and dread, 

With here and there a clearing cut 

From the walled shadows round ii shut ; 15 

Each with its farm-house builded rude, 

By Enghsh yeoman squared and hewed. 

And the grim, flankered block-house bound 

With bristling palisades around. 

So, haply shall before thine eyes 20 

The dusty veil of centuries rise, 

The old, strange scenery overlay 

The tamer pictures of to-day, 

While, like the actors in a play. 

Pass in their ancient guise along 25 

The figures of my border song : 

What time beside Cocheco's flood 

The white man and the red man stood, 



THE TRUCE OF PISCATAQUA 139 

With words of peace and brotherhood ; 
When passed the sacred calumet 30 

From hp to hp with fire-draught wet, 
And, puffed in scorn, the peace-pipe's smoke. 
Through the gray beard of Waldron broke, 
And Squando's voice, in suppUant plea 
For mercy, struck the haughty key 35 

Of one who held, in any fate, 
His native pride inviolate ! 

" Let your ears be opened wide ! 

He who speaks has never lied. 

Waldron of Piscataqua, 40 

Hear what Squando has to say ! 

"Squando shuts his eyes and sees 

Far off, Saco's° hemlock-trees. 

In his wigwam, still as stone, 

Sits a woman all alone, 45 

" Wampum beads and birchen strands 
Dropping from her careless hands, 
Listening ever for the fleet 
Patter of a dead child's feet ! 

" When the moon a year ago 50 

Told the flowers the time to blow, 
In that lonely wigwam smiled 
Menewee, our little child. 

'' Ere that moon grew thin and old, 

He was lying stiff and cold; 55 

Sent before us, weak and small, 

When the Master did not call ! 



140 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

" On his little grave I lay; 

Three times went and came the day; 

Thrice above me blazed the noon, 60 

Thrice above me wept the moon. 

'' In the third night-watch I heard, 

Far and low, a spirit-bird; 

Very mournful, very wild, 

Sang the totem of my child. ° 65 

'' ' Menewee, poor Menewee, 
Walks a path he cannot see : 
Let the white man's wigwam light 
With its blaze his steps aright. 

'' ' All uncalled, he dares not show 70 

Empty hands to Manito°: 
Better gifts he cannot bear 
Than the scalps his slayers wear.' 

" All the while the totem sang, 

Lightning blazed and thunder rang; 75 

And a black cloud, reaching high, 

Pulled the white moon from the sky. 

" I, the medicine-man, whose ear 

All that spirits hear can hear, — 

I, whose eyes are wide to see 80 

All the things that are to be, — 

" Well I knew the dreadful signs 

In the whispers of the pines. 

In the river roaring loud. 

In the mutter of the cloud, 85 



THE TRUCE OF PISCATAQUA 141 

" At the breaking of the day, 

From the grave I passed away ; 

Flowers bloomed round me, birds sang glad, 

But my heart was hot and mad. 

" There is rust on Squando's knife, 90 

From the warm, red springs of life ; 
On the funeral hemlock-trees 
Many a scalp the totem sees. 

" Blood for blood ! But evermore 
Squando's heart is sad and sore ; 95 

And his poor squaw waits at home 
For the feet that never come ! 

" Waldron of Cocheco, hear ! 

Squando speaks, who laughs at fear; 

Take the captives he has ta'en; 100 

Let the land have peace again !" 

As the words died on his tongue, 

Wide apart his warriors swung; 

Parted, at the sign he gave. 

Right and left, hke Egypt's wave.° 105 

And, like Israel passing free 
Through the prophet-charmed sea, 
Captive mother, wife, and child 
Through the dusky terror filed. 

One alone, a little maid, no 

Middleway her steps delayed. 
Glancing, with quick, troubled sight. 
Round about from red to white. 



142 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Then his hand the Indian laid 

On the Uttle maiden's head, us 

Lightly from her forehead fair 

Smoothing back her yellow hair. 

'' Gift or favor ask I none ; 

What I have is all my own : 

Never yet the birds have sung, 120 

* Squando hath a beggar's tongue/ 

^* Yet for her who waits at home 

For the dead who cannot come, 

Let the little Gold-hair be 

In the place of Menewee ! 125 

'' Mishanock, my little star ! 
Come to Saco's pines afar; 
Where the sad one waits at home, 
Wequashim, my moonlight, come!" 

'^ What !" quoth Waldron, ''leave a child 130 
Christian-born to heathens wild? 
As God lives, from Satan's hand 
I will pluck her as a brand !" 

"Hear me, white man!" Squando cried; 
" Let the little one decide. 135 

Wequashim, my moonlight, say, 
Wilt thou go with me, or stay?" 

Slowly, sadly, half afraid, 

Half regretfully, the maid 

Owned the ties of blood and race, — 140 

Turned from Squando's pleading face. 



THE TRUCE OF PISCATAQUA 143 

Not a word the Indian spoke, 

But his wampum° chain he broke, 

And the beaded wonder hung 

On that neck so fair and young. 145 

Silence-shod, as phantoms seem 
In the marches of a dream, 
Single-filed, the grim array 
Through the pine-trees wound away. 

Doubting, tremlDling, sore amazed, 150 

Through her tears the young child gazed. 
''God preserve her!" Waldron said; 
''Satan hath bewitched the maid !" 

Years went and came. At close of day 
Singing came a child from play, 155 

Tossing from her loose-locked head 
Gold in sunshine, brown in shade. 

Pride was in the mother's look, 

But her head she gravely shook, 

And with lips that fondly smiled 160 

Feigned to chide her truant child. 

Unabashed, the maid began : 

" Up and down the l^rook I ran, 

Where, beneath the bank so steep, 

Lie the spotted trout asleep. 165 

" ' Chip ! ' went squirrel on the wall. 
After me I heard him call, 
And the cat-bird on the tree 
Tried his best to mimic me. 



144 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

''Where the hemlocks grew so dark 170 

That I stopped to look and hark, 
On a log, with feather-hat, 
By the path, an Indian sat. 

"Then I cried, and ran away; 

But he called, and bade me stay; 175 

And his voice was good and mild 

As my mother's to her child. 

''And he took my wampum chain, 
Looked and looked it o'er again; 
Gave me berries, and, beside, 180 

On my neck a plaything tied." 

Straight the mother stooped to see 

What the Indian's gift might be, 

On the braid of wampum hung, 

Lo ! a cross of silver swung. 185 

Well she knew its graven sign, 
Squando's bird and totem pine; 
And, a mirage of the brain. 
Flowed her childhood back again. 

Flashed the roof the sunshine through, 190 
Into space the walls outgrew ; 
On the Indian's wigwam-mat, 
Blossom-crowned, again she sat. 

Cool she felt the west-wind blow, 

In her ear the pines sang low, 195 

And, like links from out a chain, 

Dropped the years of care and pain. 



MY PLAYMATE 145 

From the outward toil and din, 

From the griefs that gnaw within, 

To the freedom of the woods 200 

Called the birds, and winds, and floods. 

Well, painful minister°! 

Watch thy flock, but blame not her, 

If her ear grew sharp to hear 

All their voices whispering near. 205 

Blame her not, as to her soul 
All the desert's glamour stole, 
That a tear for childhood's loss 
Dropped upon the Indian's cross. 

When, that night, the Book was read, 210 

And she bowed her widowed head. 
And a prayer for each loved name 
Rose like incense fr-om a flame. 

To the listening ear of Heaven, 

Lo ! another name was given : 215 

" Father, give the Indian rest ! 

Bless him ! for his love has blest !" 



MY PLAYMATE° 

The pines were dark on Ramoth hillj 
Their song was soft and low; 

The blossoms in the sweet May wind 
Were faUing like the snow. 

The blossoms drifted at our feet, 
The orchard birds sang clear; 



146 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

The sweetest and the saddest day 
It seemed of all the year. 

For, more to me than birds or flowers, 

My playmate left her home, lo 

And took with her the laughing spring, 
The music and the bloom. 

She kissed the lips of kith and kin, 

She laid her hand in mine : 
What more could ask the bashful boy 15 

Who fed her father's kine ? 

She left us in the bloom of May : 

The constant years told o'er 
Their seasons with as sweet May morns, 

But she came back no more. 20 

I walk, with noiseless feet, the round 

Of uneventful years ; 
Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring 

And reap the autumn ears. 

She lives where all the golden year 25 

Her summer roses blow; 
The dusky children of the sun 

Before her come and go. 



There haply with her jewelled hands 
She smooths her silken gown, — 

No more the homespun lap wherein 
I shook the walnuts down. 

The wild grapes wait us by the brook, 
The brown nuts on the hill^ 



30 



MY PLAYMATE 147 

And still the Ma3^-day flowers make sweet 35 
The woods of Follymill. 

The lilies blossom in the pond, 

The bird builds in the tree, 
The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill 

The slow song of the sea. 40 

I wonder if she thinks of them, 

And how the old time seems, — 
If ever the pin^s of Ramoth wood 

Are sounding in her dreams. 

I see her face, I hear her voice :' 45 

Does she remember mine? 
And what to her is now the boy 

Who fed her father's kine ? 

What cares she that the orioles build 

For other eyes than ours, — 50 

That other hands with nuts are filled. 
And other laps with flowers? 

O playmate in the golden time ! 

Our mossy seat is green. 
Its fringing violets blossom yet, 55 

The old trees o'er it lean. 

The winds so sweet with birch and fern 

A sweeter memory blow ; 
And there in spring the veeries sing 

The song of long ago. 60 



148 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

And still the pines of Ramoth wood 
Are moaning like the sea, — 

The moaning of the sea of change 
Between myself and thee ! 



THE GIFT OF TRITEMIUS 

Tritemius of Herbipolis, one day, 

While kneeling at the altar's foot to pray, 

Alone with God, as was his pious choice, 

Heard from without a miserable voice, 

A sound which seemed of all sad things to tell, 

As of a lost soul crying out of hell. 

Thereat the Abbot paused ; the chain whereby 
His thoughts went upward broken by that cry; 
And, looking from the casement, saw below 
A wretched woman, with gray hair a-fiow. 
And withered hands held up to him, who cried 
For alms as one who might not be denied. 

She cried, " For the dear love of Him who gave 
His hfe for ours, my child from bondage save, — 
My beautiful, brave first-born, chained with slaves 
In the Moor's galley, where the sun-smit waves 
Lap the white walls of Tunis° !" — '^ What I can 
I give," Tritemius said : " my prayers." — '' O man 
Of God!" she cried, for grief had made her bold, 
" Mock me not thus; I ask not prayers, but gold. 
Words will not serve me, alms alone suffice; 
Even while I speak perchance my first-born dies." 

" Woman ! " Tritemius answered, '' from our door 
None go unfed; hence are we always poor, 



THE PIPES AT LUC KNOW 149 

A single soldo is our only store. 25 

Thou hast our prayers ; — what can we give thee 
more?" 

''Give me," she said, "the silver candlesticks 

On either side of the great crucifix. 

God well may spare them on His errands sped, . 

Or He can give you golden ones instead." 30* 

Then spake Tritemius, '' Even as thy word. 

Woman, so be it ! (Our most gracious Lord, 

Who loveth mercy more than sacrifice, 

Pardon me if a human soul I prize 

Above the gifts upon His altar piled !) 35 

Take what thou askest, and redeem thy child." 

But his hand trembled as the holy alms 

He placed within the beggar's eager palms; 

And as she vanished down the linden shade 

He bowed his head and for forgiveness prayed. 40 

So the day passed, and when the twilight came 
He woke to find the chapel all aflame, 
And, dumb with grateful wonder, to behold 
Upon the altar candlesticks of gold ! 



THE PIPES AT LUCKNOW^ 

Pipes of the misty moorlands, 
Voice of the glens and hills; 

The droning of the torrents, 
The treble of the rills ! 



150 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Not the braes of broom and heather, 5 

Nor the mountains dark with rain. 

Nor maiden bower, nor border tower, 
Have heard your sweetest strain ! 

Dear to the Lowland reaper, ° 

And plaided mountaineer, — lo 

To the cottage and the castle 

The Scottish pipes ° are dear; — 
Sweet sounds the ancient pibroch ° 

O'er mountain, loch, and glade; 
But the sweetest of all music 15 

The Pipes at Lucknow played. 

Day by day the Indian tiger 

Louder yelled, and nearer crept ; 
Round and round the jungle-serpent 

Near and nearer circles swept. 20 

'' Pray for rescue, wives and mothers, — 

Pray to-day !" the soldier said; 
'' To-morrow, death's between us 

And the wrong and shame we dread." 

O, they listened, looked, and waited, 25 

Till their hope became despair; 
And the sobs of low bewailing 

Filled the pauses of their prayer. 
Then up spake a Scottish maiden. 

With her ear unto the ground : 30 

'' Dinna ye hear it? — dinna ye hear it? 

The pipes o' Havelock sound !" 

Hushed the wounded man his groaning; 
Hushed the wife her little ones; 



THE PIPES AT LUCK NOW 151 

Alone they heard the drum-roll 35 

And the roar of Sepoy ° guns. 
But to sounds of home and childhood 

The Highland ear was true ; — 
As her mother's cradle-crooning 

The mountain pipes she knew. 40 

Like the march of soundless music 

Through the vision of the seer, 
More of feeUng than of hearing, 

Of the heart than of the ear, 
She knew the droning pibroch, 45 

She knew the Campbell's ° call: 
" Hark ! hear ye no' MacGregor's,° — 

The grandest o' them all!" 

O, tjiey listened, dumb and breathless. 

And they caught the sound at last ; 5° 

Faint and far beyond the Goomtee° 

Rose and fell the piper's blast ! 
Then a burst of wild thanksgiving 

Mingled woman's voice and man's ; 
" God be praised ! — the March of Havelock ! 55 

The piping of the clans !" 

Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance. 

Sharp and shrill as swords at strife, 
Came the wild MacGregor's clan-call, 

Stinging all the air to life. 60 

But when the far-off dust-cloud 

To plaided legions grew, 
Full tenderly and blithesomely 

The pipes of rescue blew ! 



152 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Round the silver domes of Lucknow, 65 

Moslem mosque and Pagan shrine, 
Breathed the air to Britons dearest, 

The air of Auld Lang Syne. 
O'er the cruel roll of war-drums 

Rose that sweet and homelike strain; 70 

And the tartan clove the turban, 

As the Goomtee cleaves the plain. 

Dear to the corn-land reaper 

And plaided mountaineer, — 
To the cottage and the castle 75 

The piper's song is dear. 
Sweet sounds the Gaelic ° pibroch 

O'er mountain, glen, and glade; 
But the sweetest of all music 

The Pipes at Lucknow played ! , 80 



THE RED RIVER VOYAGEUR 

Out and in the river is winding 
The links of its long, red chain 

Through belts of dusky pine-land 
And gusty leagues of plain. 

Only, at times, a smoke-wreath 

With the drifting cloud-rack joins, — 

The smoke of the hunting-lodges 
Of the wild Assiniboins°! 

Drearily blows the north-wind 
From the land of ice and snow ; 



THE RED mVER VOYAGEUR 153 

The eyes that look are weary, 
And heavy the hands that row. 

And with one foot on the water, 

And one upon the shore, 
The Angel of Shadow gives warning 15 

That day shall be no more. 

Is it the clang of wild-geese ? 

Is it the Indian's yell. 
That lends to the voice of the north-wind 

The tones of a far-off beh ? 20 

The voyageur smiles as he listens 

To the sound that grows apace; 
Well he knows the vesper ringing 

Of the bells of St. Boniface. ° 

The bells of the Roman Mission, 25 

That call from their turrets twain, 

To the boatman on the river. 
To the hunter on the plain ! 

Even so in our mortal journey 

The bitter north winds blow, 30 

And thus upon hfe's Red River 

Our hearts, as oarsmen, row. 

And when the Angel of Shadow 

Rests his feet on wave and shore, 
And our eyes grow dim with watching, 35 

And our hearts faint at the oar, 



154 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Happy is he who heareth 

The signal of his release 
In the bells of the Holy City, 

The chimes of eternal peace ! 4° 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE° 

Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep, 

Fair as the garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 
When Lee° marched over the mountain-wall, 

Over the mountains winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars, 
Forty flags with their crim_son bars, 

Flapped in the morning wind : the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE 155 

Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

She took up the flag the men hauled down; 20 

In her attic window the staff she set, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson ° riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 25 

He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 

"Halt !" — the dust-brown ranks stood fast. 
"Fire !" — out blazed the rifle blast. 

It shivered the window, pane and sash; 

It rent the banner with seam and gash. 30 

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. 

She leaned far out on the window-sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

" Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, 35 

But spare your country's flag," she said. 

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
Over the face of the leader came ; 

The nobler nature within him stirred 

To hfe at that woman's deed and word : 40 

" Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies Uke a dog ! March on !" he said. 



1^6 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet : 

All day long that free flag tost 45 

Over the heads of the rebel host; 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 

On the loyal winds that loved it well; 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light 

Shone over it with a warm good-night. 50 

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 

And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Honor to her ! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 55 

Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! 

Peace and order and beautv draw 
Round thy symbol of hght and law; 

And ever the stars above look down 

On thy stars below in Frederick town ! 60 



COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION ° 

The beaver cut his timber 

With patient teeth that day, 
The minks were fish-wards, and the crows 

Surveyors of highway, — 



COBBLER KEEZ Alt's VISION 157 

When Keezar sat on the hillside 5 

Upon his cobbler's form, 
With a pan of coals on either hand 

To keep his waxed-ends warm. 

And there, in the golden weather. 

He stitched and hammered and sung; lo 

In the brook he moistened his leather, 

In the pewter mug his tongue. 

Well he knew the tough old Teuton 

Who brewed the stoutest ale, 
And he paid the goodwife's reckoning 15 

In the coin of song and tale. 

The songs they still are singing 

Who dress the hills of vine. 
The tales that haunt the Brocken° 

And whisper down the Rhine. 20 

Woodsy and wild and lonesome, 

The swift stream wound away. 
Through birches and scarlet maples 

Flashing in foam and spray, — 

Down on the sharp-horned ledges 25 

Plunging in steep cascade, 
Tossing its white-maned waters 

Against the hemlock's shade. 

Woodsy and wild and lonesome. 

East and west and north and south ; 30 

Only the village of fishers 

Down at the river's mouth ; 



158 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Only here and there a clearing, 

With its farm-house rude and new, 

And tree-stumps, swart as Indians, 35 

Where the scanty harvest grew. 

No shout of home-bound reapers, 

No vintage-song he heard, 
And on the green no dancing feet 

The merry violin stirred. 40 

"Why should folk be glum," said Keezar, 

''When Nature herself is glad. 
And the painted woods are laughing 

At the faces so sour and sad?" 

Small heed had the careless cobbler 45 

What sorrow of heart was theirs 

Who travailed in pain with the births of God, 
And planted a State with prayers, — 

Hunting of witches and warlocks. 

Smiting the heathen horde, — 50 

One hand on the mason's trowel, 

And one on the soldier's sword ! 

But give him his ale and cider. 

Give him his pipe and song. 
Little he cared for Church or State, 55 

Or the balance of right and wrong. 

"'Tis work, work, work," he muttered, — 
''And for rest a snuffle of psalms !" 

He smote on his leathern apron 

With his brown and waxen palms. 60 



COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION 159 

'' Oh for the purple harvests 

Of the days when I was young ! 
For the merry grape-stained maidens, 

And the pleasant songs they sung ! 

'' Oh for the breath of vineyards, 65 

Of apples and nuts and wine ! 
For an oar to row and a breeze to blow 

Down the grand old river Rhine !" 

A tear in his blue eye glistened, 

And dropped on his beard so gray. 70 

''Old, old am I," said Keezar, 

"And the Rhine flows far away!" 

But a cunning man was the cobbler; 

He could call the birds from the trees. 
Charm the black snake out of the ledges, 75 

And bring back the swarming bees. 

All the virtues of herbs and metals. 
All the lore of the woods, he knew, ' 

And the arts of the Old World mingled 

With the marvels of the New. 80 

Well he knew the tricks of magic. 

And the lapstone on his knee. 
Had the gift of the Mormon's goggles 

Or the stone of Doctor Dee.° 

For the mighty master Agrippa° 85 

Wrought it with spell and rhyme 
From a fragment of mystic moonstone 

In the tower of Nettesheim. 



160 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

To a cobbler Minnesinger ° 

The marvellous stone gave he, — 90 

And he gave it, in turn, to Keezar, 

Who brought it over the sea. 

He held up that mystic lapstone, 

He held it up like a lens, 
And he counted the long years coming 95 

By twenties and by tens. 

"One hundred years," quoth Keezar, 

''And fifty have I told: 
Now open the new before me, 

And shout me out the old V 100 

Like a cloud of mist, the blackness 

Rolled from the magic stone. 
And a marvellous picture mingled 

The unknown and the known. 

Still ran the stream to the river, 105 

And river and ocean joined; 
And there were the bluffs and the blue sea-line, 

And cold north hills behind. 

But the mighty forest was broken 

By many a steepled town, no 

By many a white-walled farm-house, 

And many a garner brown. 

Turning a score of mill-wheels. 

The stream no more ran free; 
White sails on the winding river, . 115 

White sails on the far-off sea. 



COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION IGl 

Below in the noisy village 

The flags were floating ga}^, 
And shone on a thousand faces 

The light of a holiday. 120 

Swiftly the rival ploughmen 

Turned the brown earth from their shares ; 
Here were the farmer's treasures, 

There were the craftsman's wares. 

Golden the goodwife's butter, 125 

Ruby her currant-wine; 
Grand were the strutting turkeys, 

Fat were the beeves and swine. 

Yellow and red were the apples, 

And the ripe pears russet-brown, 130 

And the peaches had stolen blushes 

From the girls who shook them down. 

And with blooms of hill and wild-wood. 

That shame the toil of art, 
Mingled the gorgeous blossoms 135 

Of the garden's tropic heart. 

''What is it I see?" said Keezar: 

'' Am I here, or am I there ? 
Is it a fete at Bingen°? 

Do I look on Frankfort fair? 140 

'' But where are the clowns and puppets. 

And imps with horns and tail? 
And where are the Rhenish flagons ? 

And where is the foaming ale ? 



162 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

''Strange things, I know, will happen, — 145 

Strange things the Lord permits; 

But that droughty folk should be jolly 
Puzzles my poor old wits. 

" Here are smiling manly faces, 

And the maiden's step is gay; 150 

Nor sad by thinking, nor mad by drinking, 

Nor mopes, nor fools, are they. 

'' Here's pleasure without regretting, 

And good without abuse, 
The holiday and the bridal 155 

Of beauty and of use. 

'' Here's a priest and there is a Quaker, — 

Do the cat and dog agree? 
Have they burned the stocks for oven-wood ? 

Have they cut down the gallows-tree ? 160 

'' Would the old folk know their children ? 

Would they own the graceless town. 
With never a ranter to worry 

And never a witch to drown?" 

Loud laughed the cobbler Keezar, 165 

Laughed like a school-boy gay; 
Tossing his arms above him. 

The lapstone rolled away. 

It rolled down the rugged hillside, 

It spun like a wheel bewitched, 170 

It plunged through the leaning willows. 

And into the river pitched. 



AMY WENTWORTH 163 

There, in the deep, dark water 

The magic stone Kes still, 
Under the leaning willows, 175 

In the shadow of the hill. 

But oft the idle fisher 

Sits on the shadowy bank, 
And his dreams make marvellous pictures 

Where the wizard's lapstone sank. 180 

And still, in the summer twilights, 

When the river seems to run 
Out from the inner glory, 

Warm with the melted sun, 

The weary mill-girl lingers 185 

Beside the charmed stream, 
And the sky and the golden water 

Shape and color her dream. 

Fair wave the sunset gardens, 

The rosy signals fly; 190 

Her homestead beckons from the cloud, 

And love goes sailing by. 



AMY WENTWORTH° 

TO W. B. 

As they who watch by sick-beds find relief 
Unwittingly from the great stress of grief 
And anxious care in fantasies out-wrought 
From the hearth's embers flickering low, or caught 



164 BALLADS AND NARBATIVE POEMS 

From whispering wind, or tread of passing feet, 5 

Or vagrant memory calling up some sweet 

Snatch of old song or romance, whence or why 

They scarcely know or ask, — so, thou and I, 

Nursed in the faith that Truth alone is strong 

In the endurance which outwearies Wrong, 10 

With meek persistence baffling brutal force, 

And trusting God against the universe, — 

We, doomed to watch a strife we may not share 

With other weapons than the patriot's prayer. 

Yet owning, with full hearts and moistened eyes, 15 

The awful beauty of self-sacrifice, 

And wrung by keenest sympathy for all 

Who give their loved ones for the living wall 

'Twixt law and treason, — in this evil day 

May haply find, through automatic play 20 

Of pen and pencil, solace to our pain. 

And hearten others with the strength we gain. 

I know it has been said our times require 

No play of art, nor dalliance with the lyre, 

No weak essay with Fancy's chloroform 25 

To calm the hot, mad pulses of the storm. 

But the stern war-blast rather, such as sets 

The battle's teeth of serried bayonets; 

And pictures grim as Vernet's.° Yet with these 

Some softer tints may blend, and milder keys 30 

Relieve the storm-stunned ear. Let us keep sweet 

If so we may, our hearts, even while we eat 

The bitter harvest of our own device 

And half a century's moral cowardice. 

As Niirnberg sang while Wittenberg defied, ° 35 

And Kranach° painted by his Luther's side, 

And through the war-march of the Puritan 



AMY WENTWORTH 165 

The silver stream of Marveirs° music ran, 

So let the household melodies be sung, 

The pleasant pictures on. the wall be hung, — 40 

So let us hold against the hosts of night 

And slavery all our vantage-ground of light. 

Let Treason boast its savagery and shake 

From its flag-folds its symbol rattle-snake. 

Nurse its fine arts, lay human skins in tan, 45 

And carve its pipe-bowls from the bones of man. 

And make the tale of Fijian° banquets dull 

By drinking whiskey from a loyal skull, — 

But let us guard, till this sad war shall cease, 

(God grant it soon !) the graceful arts of peace : 50 

No foes are conquered who the victors teach 

Their vandal manners and barbaric speech. 

And while, with hearts of thankfulness, we bear 

Of the great common burden our full share. 

Let none upbraid us that the waves entice 55 

Thy sea-dipped pencil, or some quaint device, 

Rhythmic and sweet, beguiles my pen away 

From the sharp strifes and sorrows of to-day. 

Thus, while the east-wind keen from Labrador 

Sings in the leafless elms, and from the shore 60 

Of the great sea comes the monotonous roar 

Of the long-breaking surf, and all the sky 

Is gray with cloud, home-bound and dull, I try 

To time a simple legend to the sounds 

Of winds in the woods, and waves on pebbled bounds, — 65 

A song for oars to chime with, such as might 

Be sung by tired sea-painters, who at night 

Look from their hemlock camps, by quiet cove 

Or beach, moon-hghted, on the waves they love. 



166 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

(So hast thou looked, when level sunset lay 70 

On the calm bosom of some Eastern bay, 
And all the spray-moist rocks and waves that rolled 
Up the white sand-slopes flashed with ruddy gold.) 
Something it has — a flavor of the sea, 
And the sea's freedom — which reminds of thee. 75 

Its faded picture, dimly smiling down 
From the blurred fresco of the ancient town, 
I have not touched with warmer tints in vain. 
If, in this dark, sad year, it steals one thought from 
pain. 



Her fingers shame the ivory keys 80 

They dance. so light along; 
The bloom upon her parted lips 

Is sweeter than the song. 

O perfumed suitor, spare thy smiles 

Her thoughts are not of thee ; 85 

She better loves the salted wind, 
The voices of the sea. 

Her heart is like an outbound ship 

That at its anchor swings ; 
The murmur of the stranded shell 90 

Is in the song she sings. 

She sings, and, smiling, hears her praise. 

But dreams the while of one 
Who watches from his sea-blown deck 

The icebergs in the sun. 95 



AMY WENTWORTII 167 

She questions all the winds that blow, 

And every fog-wreath dim, 
And bids the sea-birds flying north 

Bear messages to him. 

She speeds them with the thanks of men loo 

He perilled life to save, 
And grateful prayers, hke holy oil 

To smooth for him the wave. 

Brown Viking of the fishing-smack ! 

Fair toast of all the town ! — 105 

The skipper's jerkin ill beseems 

The lady's silken gown ! 

But ne'er shall Amy Went worth wear 

For him the blush of shame 
Who dares to set his manly gifts no 

Against her ancient name. 

The stream is brightest at its spring, 

And blood is not like wine ; 
Nor honored less than he who heirs 

Is he who founds a Une. 115 

Full lightly shall the prize be won. 

If love be Fortune's spur; 
And never maiden stoops to him 

Who lifts himself to her. 

Her home is brave in Jaffrey Street, 120 

With stately stairways worn 
By feet of old Colonial knights 

And ladies srentle-born. 



168 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Still green about its ample porch 

The English ivy twines, 
Trained back to show in English oak 

The herald's carven signs. 

And on her, from the wainscot old, 
Ancestral faces frown, — 

And this has worn the soldier's sword, 
And that the judge's gown. 

But, strong of will and proud as they, 
She walks the gallery floor 

As if she trod her sailor's deck 
By stormy Labrador ! 

The sweetbrier blooms on Kitteryside, 
And green are Elliot's bowers ; 

Her garden is the pebbled beach, 
The mosses are her flowers. 

She looks across the harbor-bar 
To see the white gulls fly; 

His greeting from the Northern sea 
Is in their clanging cry. 

She hums a song, and dreams that he, 

As in its romance old. 
Shall homeward ride with silken sails 

And masts of beaten gold ! 

Oh, rank is good, and gold is fair, 
And high and low mate ill ; 

But love has never known a law 
Beyond its own sweet will ! 



THE COUNTESS 169 

THE COUNTESS 

TO E. W. 

I KNOW not, Time and Space so intervene, 

Whether, still waiting with a trust serene. 

Thou bearest up thy fourscore years and ten, 

Or, called at last, art now Heaven's citizen; 

But, here or there, a pleasant thought of thee, 5 

Like an old friend, all day has been with me, 

The shy, still boy, for whom thy kindly hand 

Smoothed his hard pathway to the wonder-land 

Of thought and fancy, in gray manhood yet 

Keeps green the memory of his early debt. lo 

To-day, when truth and falsehood speak their words 

Through hot-Mpped cannon and the teeth of swords. 

Listening with quickened heart and ear intent 

To each sharp clause of that stern argument, 

I still can hear at times a softer note 15 

Of the old pastoral music round me float. 

While through the hot gleam of our civil strife 

Looms the green mirage of a simpler life. 

As, at his alien post, the sentinel 

Drops the old bucket in the homestead well, 20 

And hears old voices in the winds that toss 

Above his head the live-oak's beard of moss, 

So, in our trial-time, and under skies 

Shadowed by swords like Islam's paradise, 

I Avait and watch, and let my fancy stray 25 

To milder scenes and youth's Arcadian day; 

And howsoe'er the pencil dipped in dreams 

Shades the brown woods or tints the sunset streams, 



170 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

The country doctor in the foreground seems, 
Whose ancient sulky down the village lanes 30 

Dragged, like a war-car, captive ills and pains. 
I could not paint the scenery of my song, 
Mindless of one who looked thereon so long; 
Who, night and day, on duty's lonely round. 
Made friends o' the woods and rocks, and knew the 
sound ^ 35 

Of each small brook, and what the hillside trees 
Said to the winds that touched their leafy keys; 
Who saw so keenly and so well could paint 
The village-folk, with all their humors quaint, — 
The parson ambling on his wall-eyed roan, 40 

Grave and erect, with white hair loackward blown ; 
The tough old boatman, half amphibious grown; 
The muttering witch-wife of the gossip's tale. 
And the loud straggler levying his blackmail, — 
Old customs, habits, superstitions, fears, 4S 

All that lies buried under fifty years. 
To thee, as is most fit, I bring my lay. 
And, grateful, own the debt I cannot pay. 



Over the wooded northern ridge. 

Between its houses brown, 50 

To the dark tunnel of the bridge 

The street comes stragghng down. 

You catch a glimpse, through birch and pine, 

Of gable, roof, and porch. 
The tavern with its swinging sign 55 

The sharp horn of the church. 



THE COUNTESS 111 

The river's steel-blue crescent curves 

To meet, in ebb and flow, 
The single broken wharf that serves 

For sloop and gundelow. 60 

With salt sea-scents along its shores 

The heavy hay-boats crawl, 
The long antennae of their oars 

In lazy rise and fall. 

Along the gray abutment's wall, 65 

The idle shad-net dries ; 
The toll-man in his cobbler's stall 

Sits smoking with closed eyes. 

You hear the pier's low undertone 

Of waves that chafe and gnaw ; 7° 

You start, — a skipper's horn is blown 

To raise the creaking draw. 

At times a blacksmith's anvil sounds 

With slow and sluggard beat, 
Or stage-coach on its dusty rounds 75 

Wakes up the staring street. 

A place for idle eyes and ears, 

A cob webbed nook of dreams ; 
Left by the stream whose waves are years 

The stranded village seems. 80 

And there, like other moss and rust, 

The native dweller clings, 
And keeps, in uninquiring trust. 

The old, dull round of things. 



172 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

The fisher drops his patient hnes, 85 

The farmer sows his grain, 
Content to hear the murmuring pines 

Instead of railroad-train. 

Go where, along the tangled steep 

That slopes against the west, 90 

The hamlet's buried idlers sleep 
In still profounder rest. 

Throw back the locust's flowery plume, 

The birch's pale-green scarf, 
And break the web of brier and bloom 95 

From name and epitaph. 

A simple muster-roll of death, 

Of pomp and romance shorn. 
The dry, old names that common breath 

Has cheapened and outworn. 100 

Yet pause by one low mound, and part 

The wild vines o'er it laced. 
And read the words by rustic art 

Upon its headstone traced. 

Haply yon white-haired villager 105 

Of fourscore years can say 
What means the noble name of her 

Who sleeps with common clay. 

And exile from the Gascon land 

Found refuge here and rest, no 

And loved, of all the village band, 

Its fairest and its best. 



THE COUNTESS 173 

He knelt with her on Sabbath morns, 
He worshipped through her eyes, 

And on the pride that doubts and scorns 115 
Stole in her faith's surprise. 

Her simple daily life he saw 

By homeliest duties tried, 
In all things by an untaught law 

Of fitness justified. 120 

For her his rank aside he laid, 

He took the hue and tone 
Of lowly life and toil, and made 

Her simple ways his own. 

Yet still, in gay and careless ease, 125 

To harvest-field or dance 
He brought the gentle courtesies. 

The nameless grace of France. 

And she who taught him love not less 

From him she loved in turn 130 

Caught in her sweet unconsciousness 
What love is quick to learn. 

Each grew to each in pleased accord. 

Nor knew the gazing town 
If she looked upward to her lord 135 

Or he to her looked down. 

How sweet, when summer's day was o'er, 

His violin's mirth and wail, 
The walk on pleasant Newbury's shore. 

The river's moonlit sail ! 140 



174 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Ah ! life is brief, though love be long ; 

The altar and the bier, 
The burial hymn and bridal song, 

Were both in one short year. 

Her rest is quiet on the hill, i4S 

Beneath the locust's bloom : 
Far off her lover sleeps as still 

Within his scutcheoned tomb. 

The Gascon lord,° the village maid, 

In death still clasp their hands; 150 

The love that levels rank and grade 
Unites their severed lands. 

What matter whose the hillside grave, 

Or whose the blazoned stone ? 
Forever to her western wave 155 

Shall whisper blue Garonne °! 

O Love ! — so hallowing every soil 
That gives thy sweet flower room, 

Wherever, nursed by ease or toil. 

The human heart takes bloom ! — 160 

Plant of lost Eden, from the sod 

Of sinful earth unriven. 
White blossom of the trees of God 

Dropped down to us from heaven ! — 

This tangled waste of mound and stone 165 

Is holy for thy sake ; 
A sweetness which is all thy own 

Breathes out from fern and brake. 



THE FROST SPIRIT 175 

And while ancestral pride shall twine 

The Gascon's tomb with flowers, 170 

Fall sweetly here, O song of mine, 
With summer's bloom and showers ! 

And let the lines that severed seem 

Unite again in thee. 
As western wave and Gallic ° stream 175 

Are mingled in one sea ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

THE FROST SPIRIT ° 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! 

You may trace his footsteps now 
On the naked woods and the blasted fields and the 

brown hill's withered brow. 
He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees where 

their pleasant green came forth. 
And the winds which follow wherever he goes, have 

shaken them down to earth. 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! — 

from the frozen Labrador, — 5 

From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which the 

white bear wanders o'er, — 
Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the 

luckless forms below 
In the sunless cold of the fingering night into marble 

statues grow ! 



176 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! — 
on the rushing Northern blast. 

And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed as his fear- 
ful breath went past. lo 

With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, where the 
fires of Hecla° glow 

On the darkly beautiful sky above and the ancient ice 
below. 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! — 

and the quiet lake shall feel 
The torpid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to the 

skater's heel; 
And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, 

or sang to the leaning grass, 15 

Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in mournful 

silence pass. 

He comes, — he comes, — the Frost Spirit comes ! — 

let us meet him as we may. 
And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil 

power away; 
And gather closer the circle round, when that firelight 

dances high, 
And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as hii 

sounding wing goes by ! 20 

RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE ° 

O Mother Earth ! upon thy lap 

Thy weary ones receiving. 
And o'er them, silent as a dream, 

Thy grassy mantle weaving, 
Fold softly in thy long embrace 5 



RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE 177 

That heart so worn and broken, 
And cool its pulse of fire beneath 
Thy shadows old and oaken. 

Shut out from him the bitter word 

And serpent hiss of scorning ; lo 

Nor let the storms of yesterday 

Disturb his cjuiet morning. 
Breathe over him forget fulness 

Of all save deeds of kindness, 
And, save to smiles of grateful ej^es, 15 

Press down his lids in blindness. 

There, where with living ear and eye 

He heard Potomac's flowing, 
And, through his tall ancestral trees, 

Saw autumn's sunset glowing, 20 

He sleeps, — still looking to the west, 

Beneath the dark wood shadow, 
As if he still would see the sun 

Sink down on wave and meadow. 

Bard, Sage, and Tribune ! — in himself 25 

All moods of mind contrasting, — 
The tenderest wail of human woe, 

The scorn like lightning blasting; 
The pathos which from rival eyes 

Unwilling tears could sunnnon, 30 

The stinging taunt, the fiery burst 

Of hatrecl scarcely human ! 

Mirth, sparkling like a diamond shower, 
From lips of Ufe-long sadness ; 



178 BALLADS AND NARRATIVE POEMS 

Clear picturings of majestic thought 35 

Upon a ground of madness; 
And over all Romance and Song 

A classic beauty throwing, 
And laurelled Cho° at his side 

Her storied pages showing. 4° 

All parties feared him : each in turn 

Beheld its schemes disjointed, 
As right or left his fatal glance 

And spectral finger pointed. 
Sworn foe of Cant, he smote it down 45 

With trenchant wit unsparing, 
And, mocking, rent with ruthless hand 

The robe Pretence was wearing. 

Too honest or too proud to feign 

A love he never cherished, 50 

Beyond Virginia's border line 

His patriotism perished. 
While others hailed in distant skies 

Our eagle's dusky pinion. 
He only saw the mountain bird 55 

Stoop o'er his Old Dominion ! 

Still through each change of fortune strange, 

Racked nerve, and brain all burning. 
His loving faith in Mother-land 

Knew never shade of turning ; 60 

By Britain's lakes, by Neva's° wave, 

Whatever sky was o'er him, 
He heard her rivers' rushing sound. 

Her blue peaks rose before him. 



RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE 179 

He held his slaves, yet made withal 65 

No false and vain pretences, 
Nor paid a lying priest to seek 

For Scriptural defences. 
His harshest words of proud rebuke. 

His bitterest taunt and scorning, 70 

Fell fire-like on the Northern brow 

That bent to him in fawning. 

He held his slaves ; yet kept the while 

His reverence for the Human ; 
In the dark vassals of his will 75 

He saw but Man and Woman ! 
No hunter of God's outraged poor 

His Roanoke valley entered ; 
No trader in the souls of men 

Across his threshold ventured. 80 

And when the old and wearied man 

Lay down for his last sleeping. 
And at his side, a slave no more. 

His brother-man stood weeping, 
His latest thought, his latest breath, 85 

To Freedom's duty giving. 
With faihng tongue and trembling hand 

The dying blest the Hving. 

Oh, never bore his ancient State 

A truer son or braver ! 90 

None trampling with a calmer scorn 

On foreign hate or favor. 
He knew her faults, yet never stooped 

His proud and manly feehng 



180 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

To poor excuses of the wrong 95 

Or meanness of concealing. 

But none beheld with clearer eye 

The plague-spot o'er her spreading, 
None heard more sure the steps of Doom 

Along her future treading. loo 

For her as for himself he spake, 

When, his gaunt frame upbracing, 
He traced with dying hand ''Remor>se !'' 

And perished in the tracing. 

As from the grave where Henry ° sleeps, 105 

From Vernon's weeping willow. 
And from the grassy pall which hides 

The Sage of Monticello,° 
So from the leaf-strewn burial-stone 

Of Randolph's lowly dwelling, no 

Virginia ! o'er thy land of slaves 

A warning voice is swelling ! 

And hark ! from thy deserted fields 

Are sadder warnings spoken. 
From quenched hearths, where thy exiled sons 115 

Their household gods have broken. 
The curse is on thee, — wolves for men, 

And briers for corn-sheaves giving ! 
Oh, more than all thy dead renown 

Were now one hero hvins; ! 120 



'Jd 



THE NORSEMEN 

Gift from the €old and silent Past°! 
A rehc to the present cast; 



THE NORSEMEN 181 

Left on the ever-changing strand 

Of shifting and unstable sand, 

Which wastes beneath the steady chime 5 

And beating of the waves of Time ! 

Who from its bed of primal rock 

First wrenched thy dark, unshapely block ? 

Whose hand, of curious skill untaught, 

Thy rude and savage outhne wrought? 10 

The waters of my native stream 

Are glancing in the sun's warm beam : 

From sail-urged keel and flashing oar 

The circles widen to its shore : 

And cultured field and peopled town 15 

Slope to its willowed margin down. 

Yet, while this morning breeze is bringing 

The home-life sound of school-bells ringing, 

And rolling wheel, and rapid jar 

Of the fire-winged and steedless car, 20 

And voices from the wayside near 

Come quick and blended on my ear, 

A spell is in this old gray stone, — 

My thoughts are with the Past alone ! 

A change ! — The steepled town no more 25 

Stretches along the sail-thronged shore : 

Like palace-domes in sunset's cloud, 

Fade sun-gilt spire and mansion proud : 

Spectrally rising where they stood, 

I see the old, primeval wood : 3° 

Dark, shadow-like, on either hand 

I see its solemn waste expand : 

It cUmbs the green and cultured hill. 



182 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

It arches o'er the valley's rill; 

And leans from cliff and crag, to throw 35 

Its wild arms o'er the stream below. 

Unchanged, alone, the same bright river 

Flows on, as it will flow forever ! 

I listen, and I hear the low 

Soft ripple where its waters go ; 40 

I hear behind the panther's cry, 

The wild-bird's scream goes thrilling by, 

And shyly on the river's brink 

The deer is stooping down to drink. 

But hark ! — from wood and rock flung back, 45 

What sound comes up the Merrimack ? 

What sea- worn barks are those which throw 

The light spray from each rushing prow ? 

Have they not in the North Sea's blast 

Bowed to the waves the straining mast? 50 

Their frozen sails the low, pale sun 

Of Thule's night ° has shone upon; 

Flapped by the sea-wind's gusty sweep 

Round icy drift, and headland steep. 

Wild Jutland's^ wives and Lochlin's° daughters 55 

Have watched them fading o'er the waters, 

Lessening through driving mist and spray, 

Like white- winged sea-birds on their way ! 

Onward they glide, — and now I view 

Their iron-armed and stalwart crew; 60 

Joy glistens in each wild blue eye, 

Turned to green earth and summer sky : 

Each broad, seamed breast has cast aside 

Its cumbering vest of shaggy hide ; 



THE NORSEMEN 183 

Bared to the sun and soft warm air, 65 

Streams back the Norsemen's yellow hair. 

I see the gleam of axe and spear, 

The sound of smitten shields I hear, 

Keeping a harsh and fitting time 

To Saga's chant, and Runic rhyme°; 70 

Such lays as Zetland's ° Scald has sung. 

His gray and naked isles among; 

Or muttered low at midnight hour 

Round Odin's° mossy stone of power. 

The wolf beneath the Arctic moon 75 

Has answered to that startling rune ; 

The Gael° has heard its stormy swell. 

The light Frank° knows its summons well; 

lona's sable-stoled Culdee° 

Has heard it sounding o'er the sea, 80 

And swept, with hoary beard and hair, 

His altar's foot in trembUng prayer ! 

Tis past, — the 'wildering vision dies 

In darkness on my dreaming eyes ! 

The forest vanishes in air, — 85 

Hill-slope and vale lie starkly bare; 

I hear the common tread of men. 

And hum of work-day life again : 

The mystic relic seems alone 

A broken mass of common stone; 90 

And if it be the chiselled limb 

Of Berserker ° or idol grim, — 

A fragment of Valhalla's ° Thor, 

The stormy Viking's god of War, 

Or Praga of the Runic lay, 95 

Or love-awakening Siona,° 



184 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

I know not, — for no graven line, 

Nor Druid ° mark, nor Runic sign, 

Is left me here, by which to trace 

Its name, or origin, or place. loo 

Yet, for this vision of the Past, 

This glance upon its darkness cast 

My spirit bows in gratitude 

Before the Giver of all good. 

Who fashioned so the human mind, 105 

That, from the waste of Time behind 

A simple stone, or mound of earth 

Can summon the departed forth ; 

Quicken the Past to hfe again, — 

The Present lose in what hath been, no 

And in their primal freshness show 

The buried forms of long ago. 

As if a portion of that Thought 

By which the Eternal will is wrought 

Whose impulse fills anew with breath 115 

The frozen soUtude of Death, 

To mortal mind were sometimes lent 

To mortal musings sometimes sent, 

To whisper — even when it seems 

But Memory's fantasy of dreams 120 

Through the mind's waste of woe and sin, 

Of an immortal origin ? 

FORGIVENESS ° 

My heart was heavy, for its trust had been 

Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong; 

So, turning gloomily from my fellowmen, 
One summer Sabbath day I strolled among 



WHAT THE VOICE SAID 185 

The green mounds of the village burial-place ; 5 

Where, pondering how all human love and hate 
Find one sad level ; and how, soon or late, 
Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face, 

And cold hands folded over a still heart, 
Pass the green threshold of our common grave, 10 

Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart, 
Awed for myself, and pitying my race, 
Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave. 
Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave ! 



WHAT THE VOICE SAID 

Maddened by Earth's Avrong and evil, 

" Lord !" I cried in sudden ire, 
" From Thy right hand, clothed with thunder, 

Shake the bolted fire ! 

''Love is lost, and Faith is dying; 5 

With the brute the man is sold ; 
And the dropping blood of Labor 

Hardens into gold. 

'' Here the dying wail of Famine, 

There the battle's groan of pain; 10 

And, in silence, smooth-faced Mammon 

Reaping men like grain. 

"'Where is God, that we should fear Him?' 

Thus the earth-born Titans ° say; 
' God, if Thou art hving, hear us !' 15 

Thus the weak ones pray." 



186 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

'' Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding/' 

Spake a solemn Voice within; 
" Weary of our Lord's forbearance, 

Art thou free from sin ? 20 

'' Fearless brow to Him uplifting, 
Canst thou for His thunders call, 

Knowing that to guilt's attraction 
Evermore they fall ? 

" Know'st thou not all germs of evil 25 

In thy heart await their time? 
Not thyself, but God's restraining. 

Stays their growth of crime. 

" Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness ! 

O'er the sons of wrong and strife, 30 

Were their strong temptations planted 

In thy path of life ? 

''Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing 
From one fountain, clear and free, 

But by widely varying channels 35 

Searching for the sea. 

'' Glideth one through greenest valleys, 
Kissing them with lips still sweet; 

One, mad roaring down the mountains, 

Stagnates at their feet. 40 

''Is it choice whereby the Parsee° 

Kneels before his mother's fire? 
In his black tent did the Tartar ° 

Choose his wandering sire ? 



WHAT THE VOICE SAID 187 

" He alone, whose hand is bounding 45 

Human power and human will, 
Looking through each soul's surrounding, 

Knows its good or ill. 

" For thyself, while wrong and sorrow 

Make to thee their strong appeal, . 50 

Coward wert thou not to utter 
What the heart must feel. 

'' Earnest words must needs be spoken 
When the warm heart bleeds or burns 

With its scorn of wrong, or pity 55 

For the wronged, by turns. 

" But, by all thy nature's weakness, 

Hidden faults and folhes known, 
Be thou, in rebuking evil, 

Conscious of thine own. 60 

" Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty 

To thy lips her trumpet set. 
But with harsher blasts shall mingle 

Wailings of regret." 

Cease not. Voice of holy speaking, 65 

Teacher sent of God, be near, 
Whispering through the day's cool silence. 

Let my spirit hear ! 

So, when thoughts of evil-doers. 

Waken scorn, or hatred move, 70 

Shall a mournful fellow-feeling 

Temper all with love. 



18S MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



EXTRACT FROM '^ A NEW ENGLAND LEGEND "° 

How has New England's romance fled, 

Even as a vision of the morning ! 
Its rites foredone, — its guardians dead, — 
Its priestesses, bereft of dread. 

Waking the veriest urchin's scorning ! 5 

Gone hke the Inchan wizard's yell 

And fire-dance round the magic rock. 
Forgotten like the Druid's spell 

At moonrise by his holy oak ! 
No more along the shadowy glen, 10 

Ghde the dim ghosts of murdered men ; 
No more the unquiet churchyard dead 
Glimpse upward from their turfy bed. 

Startling the traveller, late and lone; 
As, on some night of starless weather, 15 

They silently commune together. 

Each sitting on his own head-stone ! 
The roofless house, decayed, deserted, 
Its hving tenants all departed. 
No longer rings with midnight revel 20 

Of witch, or ghost, or goblin evil ; 
No pale blue flame sends out its flashes 
Through creviced roof and shattered sashes ! — 
The witch-grass round the hazel spring 
May sharply to the night-air sing, 25 

But there no more shall withered hags 
Refresh at ease their broomstick nags. 
Or taste those hazel-shadowed waters 
As beverage meet for Satan's daughters ; 
No more their mimic tones be heard, — 30 

The mew of cat, — the chirp of bird, — 



EXTRACT FROM "^ NEW ENGLAND LEGEND" 189 

Shrill blending with the hoarser laughter 
Of the fell demon, following after ! 

The cautious goodman nails no more 

A horseshoe on his outer door, 35 

Lest some unseemly hag should fit 

To his own mouth her bridle-bit, — 

The goodwife's churn no more refuses 

Its wonted culinary uses 

Until, with heated needle burned, 40 

The witch has to her place returned ! 

Our witches are no longer old 

And wrinkled beldames, Satan-sold, 

But young and gay and laughing creatures. 

With the heart's sunshine on their features, — 45 

Their sorcery — the hght which dances 

Where the raised lid unveils its glances; 

Or that low-breathed and gentle tone. 

The music of Love's twilight hours, 
Soft, dream-like, as a fairy's moan 50 

Above her nightly closing flowers, 
Sw^eeter than that w^hich sighed of yore 
Along the charmed Ausonian shore ° ! 
Even she, our own weird heroine. 
Sole Pythoness of ancient Lynn, 55 

Sleeps calmly where the living laid her. 
And the wide realm of sorcery, 
Left by its latest mistress free. 

Hath found no gray and skilled invader : 
So perished Albion's° "glanmiarye,"° 60 

With him in j\Ielrose Abbey sleepin* 
His charmed torch beside his knee, 



o 



That even the dead himself might see 



190 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

The magic scroll within his keeping. 
And now our modern Yankee sees 65 

Nor omens, spells, nor mysteries ; 
And naught above, below, around, 
Of life or death, of sight or sound, 

Whate'er its nature, form, or look, 
Excites his terror or surprise, — 70 

All seeming to his knowing eyes 
Familiar as his '' catechise, "° 
Or '^ Webster's Spelling-Book/' ° 



HAMPTON BEACH^ 

The sunlight glitters keen and bright, 

Where, miles away. 
Lies stretching to my dazzled sight 
A luminous belt, a misty light, 
Beyond the dark pine bluffs and wastes of sandy gray. 5 

The tremulous shadow of the Sea ! 

Against its ground 
Of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree, 
Still as a picture, clear and free, 
With varying outline mark the coast for miles around. 10 

On — on — we tread with loose-flung rein 

Our seaward way. 
Through dark-green fields and blossoming grain. 
Where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane. 
And bends above our heads the flowering locust 
spray. 15 

Ha ! like a kind hand on my brow 
Comes this fresh breeze. 



HAMPTON BEACH 191 

Cooling its dull and feverish glow, 
While through my being seems to flow 
The breath of a new life, — the healing of the seas ! 20 

Now rest we, where this grassy mound 

His feet hath set 
In the great waters, which have bound 
His granite ankles greenly round 
With long and tangled moss, and weeds with cool 
spray wet. 25 

Good-by to pain and care ! I take 

Mine ease to-day : 
Here where these sunny waters break, 
And ripples this keen breeze, I shake 
All burdens from the heart, all weary thoughts away. 30 

I draw a freer breath — I seem 

Like all I see — 
Waves in the sun — the white-winged gleam 
Of sea-birds in the slanting beam — 
And far-off sails which flit before the south-wind 
free. 35 

So when Time's veil shall fall asunder, 

The soul may know 
No fearful change, nor sudden wonder. 
Nor sink the weight of mystery under. 
But with the upward rise, and with the vastness 
grow. 40 

And all we shrink from now may seem 
No new revealing; 



192 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Familiar as our childhood's stream, 
Or pleasant memory of a dream 
The loved and cherished Past upon the new life steal- 
ing. 45 

Serene and mild the untried light 

May have its dawning; 
And, as in summer's northern night 
The evening and the dawn unite, 
The sunset hues of Time blend with the soul's new 
morning. 50 

I sit alone ; in foam and spray 

Wave after wave 
Breaks on the rocks which, stern and gray, 
Shoulder the broken tide away. 
Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy cleft 
and cave. 55 

What heed I of the dusty land 

And noisy town? 
I see the mighty deep expand 
From its white line of glimmering sand 
To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shuts 
down ! 60 

In listless quietude of mind, 

I yield to all 
The change of cloud and wave and wind, 
And passive on the flood reclined, 
I wander with the waves, and with them rise and 
fall. 65 

But look, thou dreamer ! — wave and shore 
In shadow lie; 



THE HILL-TOP 193 

The night-wind warns me back once more 
To where, my native hill-tops o'er, 
Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset sky. 70 

So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell ! 

I bear with me 
No token stone nor glittering shell, 
But long and oft shall Memory tell 
Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the Sea. 75 



THE HILL-TOP ° 

The burly driver at my side, 

We slowly climbed the hill. 
Whose summit, in the hot noontide, 

Seemed rising, rising still. 
At last, our short noon-shadows hid 

The top-stone, bare and brown. 
From whence, like Gizeh's pyramid, 

The rough mass slanted down. 

I felt the cool breath of the North ; 

Between me and the sun, 
O'er deep, still lake, and ridgy earth, 

I saw the cloud-shades run. 
Before me, stretched for glistening miles, 

Lay mountain-girdled Squam ; 
Like green-winged birds, the leafy isles 

Upon its bosom swam. 

And, glimmering through the sun-haze warm, 

Far as the e3'e could roam, 
Dark billows of an earthquake storm 



194 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Beflecked with clouds like foam^ 20 

Their vales in misty shadow deep, 

Their rugged peaks in shine, 
I saw the mountain ranges sweep 

The horizon's northern line. 

There towered Chocorua's peak; and west, 25 

Moosehillock's woods were seen, 
With many a nameless slide-scarred crest 

And pine-dark gorge between. 
Beyond them, like a sun-rimmed cloud, 

The great Notch mountains shone, 30 

Watched over by the solemn-browed 

And awful face of stone ! 

'' A good look-off ! " the driver spake : 

"About this time, last year, 
I drove a party to the Lake, 35 

And stopped, at evening, here. 
'Twas duskish down below; but all 

These hills stood in the sun. 
Till, dipped behind yon purple wall, 

He left them, one by one. 40 

" A lady, who, from Thornton hill, 

Had held her place outside. 
And, as a pleasant w^oman will. 

Had cheered the long, dull ride. 
Besought me, with so sweet a smile, 45 

That — though I hate delays — 
I could not choose but rest awhile, — 

(These women have such ways I) 

" On yonder mossy ledge she sat, 

Her sketch upon her knees, 50 



THE HILL- TOP 195 

A stray brown lock beneath her hat 

UnrolUng in the breeze; 
Her sweet face, in the sunset Ught 

Upraised and glorified, — 
I never saw a prettier sight 55 

In all my mountain ride. 

^' As good as fair; it seemed her joy 

To comfort and to give; 
My poor, sick wife, and cripple boy, 

Will bless her while they live !" 60 

The tremor in the driver's tone 

His manhood did not shame : 
'' I dare say, sir, you may have known " 

He named a well-known name. 

Then sank the pyramidal mounds, 65 

The blue lake fled aw^ay; 
For mountain-scope a parlor's bounds, 

A lighted hearth for day ! 
From lonely 3^ears and weary miles 

The shadows fell apart ; 70 

Kind voices cheered, sweet human smiles 

Shone warm into my heart. 

We journeyed on ; but earth and sky 

Had power to charm no more; 
Still dreamed my inward-turning eye 75 

The dream of memory o'er. 
Ah ! human kindness, human love, — 

To few who seek denied, — 
Too late we learn to prize above 

The whole round world beside ! 80 



196 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



MEMORIES ° 



A BEAUTIFUL and happy girl, 

With step as hght as summer air, 
Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, 
Shadowed by many a careless curl 

Of unconfined and flowing hair; 5 

A seeming child in everything, 

Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, 
As Nature wears the smile of Spring 

When sinking into Summer's arms. 

A mind rejoicing in the light 10 

Which melted through its graceful bower, 
Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright, 
And stainless in its holy white, 

Unfolding like a morning flower : 
A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute, 15 

With every breath of feeling woke, 
And, even when the tongue was mute, 

From eye and lip in music spoke. 

How thrills once more the lengthening chain 

Of memory, at the thought of thee ! 20 

Old hopes, which long in dust have lain, 
Old dreams, come thronging back again, 

And boyhood hves again in me ; 
I feel its glow upon my cheek. 

Its fulness of the heart is mine, 25 

As when I leaned to hear thee speak. 

Or raised my doubtful eye to thine. 

I hear again thy low replies, 
I feel thy arm within my own, 



MEMORIES 197 

And timidly again uprise 30 

The fringed lids of hazel eyes, 

With soft brown tresses overblown. 
Ah ! memories of sweet summer eves, 

Of moonlit wave and willowy way, 
Of stars and fiow^ers, and dewy leaves, 35 

And smiles and tones more dear than they ! 

Ere this, thy quiet eye hath smiled 

My picture of thy youth to see, 
When, half a woman, half a child 
Thy very artlessness beguiled, 40 

And folly's self seemed wise in thee; 
I too can smile, when o'er that hour 

The lights of memory backward stream. 
Yet feel the while that manhood's power 

Is vainer than my boyhood's dream. 45 

Years have passed on, and left their trace 

Of graver care and deeper thought ; 
And unto me the calm, cold face 
Of manhood, and to thee the grace 

Of woman's pensive beauty brought. 50 

More wide, perchance, for blame than praise, 

The schoolboy's humble name has flown; 
Thine, in the green and quiet ways 

Of unobtrusive goodness known. 

And wider yet in thought and deed 55 

Diverge our pathways, one in youth; 

Thine the Genevan's sternest creed, 

While answers to my spirit's need 
The Derby dalesman's simple truth. 



198 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

For thee, the priestly rite and prayer, 60 

And holy day, and solemn psalm; 

For me, the silent reverence where 
My brethren gather, slow and calm. 

Yet hath thy spirit left on me 

An impress Time has worn not out, 65 

And something of myself in thee, 
A shadow from the past, I see, 

Lingering, even yet, thy way about; 
Not wholly can the heart unlearn 

That lesson of its better hours, 70 

Nor yet has Time's dull footstep worn 

To common dust that path of flowers. 

Thus, while at times before our eyes 

The shadows melt, and fall apart, 
And, smiling through them, round us lies 75 

The warm light of our morning skies, — 

The Indian Summer of the heart ! — 
In secret sympathies of mind. 

In founts of feeling which retain 
Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find So 

Our early dreams not wholly vain ! 



ICHABOD!° 

So fallen ! so lost ! the light withdrawn 

Which once he wore ! 
The glory from his gray hairs gone 

For evermore ! 

Revile him not, — the Tempter hath 
A snare for all; 



ICHABOD 199 

And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, 
Befit his fall ! 

Oh, dumb be passion's stormy rage, 

When he who might lo 

Have lighted up and led his age 

Falls back in night. 

Scorn ! would the angels laugh, to mark 

A bright soul driven. 
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, 15 

From hope and heaven ! 

Let not the land once proud of him 

Insult him now, 
Nor brand with deeper shame his dim. 

Dishonored brow. 20 

But let its humbled sons, instead, 

From sea to lake, 
A long lament, as for the dead. 

In sadness make. 

Of all we loved and honored, naught 25 

Save power remains, — 
A fallen angel's pride of thought, 

Still strong in chains. 

All else is gone ; from those great eyes 

The soul has fled : 30 

When faith is lost, when honor dies. 
The man is dead ! 



200 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Then, pay the reverence of old days 

To his dead fame ; 
Walk backward, with averted gaze, 35 

And hide the shame ! 



ALL'S WELL 

The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake 

Our thirsty souls with rain ; 
The blow most dreaded falls to break 

From off our .limbs a chain ; 
And wrongs of man to man but make 

The love of God more plain. 
As through the shadowy lens of even 
The eyes look farthest into heaven 
On gleams of star and depths of blue 
The glaring sunshine never knew ! 



SEED-TIME AND HARVEST 

As o'er his furrowed fields which lie 
Beneath a coldly-dropping sky. 
Yet chill with winter's melted snow, 
The husbandman goes forth to sow. 

Thus, Freedom, on the bitter blast 
The ventures of thy seed we cast, 
And trust to warmer sun and rain 
To swell the germs and fill the grain. 

Who calls the glorious service hard? 
Who deems it not its own reward? 



SEED-TIME AND HARVEST 201 

Who, for its trials, counts it less 
A cause of praise and thankfulness ? 

It may not be our lot to wield 

The sickle in the ripened field; 

Nor ours to hear, on summer eves, 15 

The reaper's song among the sheaves. 

Yet where our duty's task is wrought 

In unison with God's great thought, 

The near and future blend in one, 

And whatsoe'er is willed, is done ! 20 

And ours the grateful service whence 
Comes, day by day, the recompense ; 
The hope, the trust, the purpose stayed, 
The fountain and the noonday shade. 

And were this life the utmost span, 25 

The only end and aim of man. 
Better the toil of fields like these 
Than waking dreams and slothful ease. 

But life, though falling like our grain, 

Like that revives and springs again; 30 

And, early called, how blest are they 

Who wait in heaven their harvest-day ! 

TO A. K.° 

ON RECEIVING A BASKET OF SEA-MOSSES 

Thanks for thy gift 
Of ocean flowers. 
Born where the golden drift 



202 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Of the slant sunshine falls 

Down the green, tremulous walls 5 

Of water, to the cool still coral bowers, 
Where, under rainbows of perpetual showers, 

God's gardens of the deep 

His patient angels keep ; 
Gladdening the dim, strange solitude lo 

With fairest forms and hues, and thus 

For ever teaching us 
The lesson which the many-colored skies. 
The flowers, and leaves, and painted butterflies, 
The deer's branched antlers, the gay bird that flings 15 
The tropic sunshine from its golden wings, 
The brightness of the human countenance, 
Its play of smiles, the magic of a glance, 

For evermore repeat. 

In varied tones and sweet, 20 

That beauty, in and of itself, is good. 

O kind and generous friend, o'er whom 

The sunset hues of Time are cast. 

Painting, upon the overpast 

And scattered clouds of noonday sorrow 25 

The promise of a fairer morrow, 
An earnest of the better hfe to come; 

The binding of the spirit broken, 

The warning to the erring spoken, 

The comfort of the sad, 30 

The eye to see, the hand to cull 

Of common things the beautiful, 
The absent heart made glad 

By simple gift or graceful token 

Of love it needs as daily food, 35 



TO A. K. 203 

All own one Source, and all are good ! 
Hence, tracking sunny cove and reach, 
Where spent waves glimmer up the beach, 
And toss their gifts of weed and shell 
From foamy curve and combing swell, 40 

No unbefitting task was thine 

To w^eave these flowers so soft and fair 
In unison with His design 

Who loveth beauty everywhere ; 
And makes in every zone and clime, 45 

In ocean and in upper air, 
''All things beautiful in their time." 

For not alone in tones of awe and power 
He speaks to man; 

The cloudy horror of the thunder-shower 50 

His rainbow span; 
And where the caravan 
Winds o'er the desert, leaving, as in air 
The crane-flock leaves, no trace of passage there. 

He gives the weary eye 55 

The palm-leaf shadow for the hot noon hours, 
And on its branches dry 

Calls out the acacia's flowers; 

And where the dark shaft pierces down 

Beneath the mountain roots, 60 

Seen by the miner's lamp alone. 
The star-like crystal shoots ; 
So, where, the winds and waves below, 
The coral-branched gardens grow, 
His climbing weeds and mosses show, 65 

Like foliage, on each stony bough. 
Of varied hues more strangely gay 



204 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Than forest leaves in autumn's day ; — 
Thus evermore, 
On sky, and wave, and shore, 70 

An all-pervading beauty seems to say : 

God's love and power are one; and they. 

Who, like the thunder of a sultry day. 

Smite to restore, 
And they, who, like the gentle wind, uplift 75 

The petals of the dew-wet flowers, and drift 

Their perfume on the air, 
Alike may serve Him, each, with their own gift, 

Making their lives a prayer ! 



MOLOCH IN STATE STREET° 

The moon has set : while yet the dawn 

Breaks cold and gray. 
Between the midnight and the morn 

Bear off your prey ! 

On, swift and still ! — the conscious street 

Is panged and stirred ; 
Tread light ! — that fall of serried feet 

The dead have heard ! 

The first drawn blood of Freedom's veins ° 

Gushed where ye tread; 
Lo ! through the dusk the martyr-stains 

Blush darkly red ! 



Beneath the slowly waning stars 
And whitening day^ 



MOLOCH IN STATE STREET 205 

What stern and awful presence bars 15 

That sacred way ? 

What faces frown upon ye, dark 

With shame and pain? 
Come these from Plymouth's Pilgrim barque? 

Is that young Vane°? 20 

Who, dimly beckoning, speed ye on 

With mocking cheer? 
Lo ! spectral Andros, Hutchinson, ° 

And Gage° are here ! 

For ready mart or favoring blast 25 

Through Moloch's fire 
Flesh of his flesh, unsparing, passed 

The Tyrian sire.° 

Ye make that ancient sacrifice 

Of Man to Gain, 30 

Your traffic thrives, where Freedom dies, 

Beneath the chain. 

Ye sow to-day, your harvest, scorn 

And hate, is near; 
How think ye freemen, mountain born, 35 

The tale will hear? 

Thank God ! our mother State can yet 

Her fame retrieve ; 
To you and to your children let 

The scandal cleave. 40 

Chain Hall and Pulpit, Court and Press, 
Make gods of gold ; 



206 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Let honor, truth, and manUness 
Like wares be sold. 

Your hoards are great, your walls are strong, 45 

But God is just ; 
The gilded chambers built by wrong 

Invite the rust. 

What ! know ye not the gains of Crime 

Are dust and dross; 50 

Its ventures on the waves of time 
Foredoomed to loss ! 

And still the Pilgrim State remains 

What she hath been; 
Her inland hills, her seaward plains, 55 

Still nurture men ! 

Nor wholly lost the fallen mart, — 

Her olden blood 
Through many a free and generous heart 

Still pours its flood. 60 

That brave old blood, quick-flowing yet, 

Shall know no check, 
Till a free people's foot is set 

On Slavery's neck. 

Even now, the peal of bell° and gun, 65 

And hills aflame. 
Tell of the first great triumph won 

In Freedom's name. 



APRIL 207 

The long night dies : the welcome gray 

Of dawn we see; 70 

Speed up the heavens Thy perfect day, 
God of the free ! 



1851 



APRIL° 

" The spring comes slowly up this way." Christahel. 

'Tis the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird 
In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard ; 
For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow% 
And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow; 
Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white, 5 

On south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light, 
O'er the cold winter-beds of their late-waking roots 
The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots; 
And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps, 
Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel 

creeps, 10 

Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers, 
With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into 

flowers ! 
We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south ! 
For the touch of thy light wings, the kiss of thy mouth ; 
For the yearly evangel thou bearest from God, 15 

Resurrection and life to the graves of the sod ! 
Up our long river-valley, for days, have not ceased 
The wail and the shriek of the ]3itter north-east, — 
Raw and chill, as if winnowed through ices and snow. 
All the way from the land of the wild Esquimau, — 20 
Until all our dreams of the land of the blest, 



208 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Like that red hunter's, turn to the sunny south-west. 
O soul of the spring-time, its hght and its breath, 
Bring warmth to this coldness, bring life to this death ; 
Renew the great miracle ; let us behold 25 

The stone from the mouth of the sepulchre rolled, 
And Nature, like Lazarus, ° rise, as of old! 
Let our faith, which in darkness and coldness has lain, 
Revive with the warmth and the brightness again, 
And in blooming of flower and budding of tree 30 

The symbols and types of our destiny see ; 
The life of the spring-time, the life of the whole. 
And, as sun to the sleeping earth, love to the soul ! 



THE POOR VOTER ON ELECTION DAY 

The proudest now is but my peer, 

The highest not more high; 
To-day, of all the weary year, 

A king of men am L 
To-day, alike are great and small, 5 

The nameless and the known; 
My palace is the people's hall, 

The ballot-box my throne ! 

Who serves to-day upon the list 

Beside the served shall stand ; 10 

Ahke the brown and wrinkled fist, 

The gloved and dainty hand ! 
The rich is level with the poor, 

The weak is strong to-day; 
And sleekest broadcloth counts no more 15 

Than homespun frock of gray. 



TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER 209 

To-day let pomp and vain pretence 

My stubborn right abide ; 
I set a plain man's common sense 

Against the pedant's pride. 20 

To-day shall simple manhood try 

The strength of gold and land ; 
The wide world has not wealth to buy 

The power in my right hand ! 

While there's a grief to seek redress, 25 

Or balance to adjust, 
Where weighs our living manhood less 

Than Mammon's vilest dust, — 
While there's a right to need my vote, 

A wrong to sweep away, 3° 

Up ! clouted knee and ragged coat ! 

A man's a man to-day ! 

TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTERS 

AN EPISTLE NOT AFTER THE MANNER OF HORACE 

Old friend, kind friend ! lightly down 

Drop time's snow-flakes on thy crown ! 

Never be thy shadow less, 

Never fail thy cheerfulness ; 

Care, that kills the cat, may plough s 

Wrinkles in the miser's brow. 

Deepen envy's spiteful frown, 

Draw the mouths of bigots down, 

Plague ambition's dream, and sit 

Heavy on the hypocrite, 10 

Haunt the rich man's door, and ride 



210 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

In the gilded coach of pride ; — 

Let the fiend pass ! — what can he 

Find to do with such as thee ? 

Seldom comes that evil guest 15 

Where the conscience lies at rest, 

And brown health and quiet wit 

Smiling on the threshold sit. ■ 

I, the urchin unto whom, 

In that smoked and cUngy room, 20 

Where the district gave thee rule 

O'er its ragged winter school, 

Thou didst teach the mysteries 

Of those weary A B C's, — 

Where, to fill the every pause 25 

Of thy wise and learned saws. 

Through the cracked and crazy wall 

Came the cradle-rock and squall, 

And the goodman's voice, at strife 

With his shrill and tipsy wife, — 30 

Luring us by stories olcl, 

With a comic unction told, 

More than by the eloquence 

Of terse birchen arguments 

(Doubtful gain, I fear), to look 35 

With complacence on a book ! — 

Where the genial pedagogue 

Half forgot his rogues to flog, 

Citing tale or apologue. 

Wise and merry in its drift 40 

As old Phsedrus' twofold gift,° 

Had the little rebels known it, 

Risum et prudentiam monet° ! 

I, — the man of middle years, 



TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER 211 

In whose sable locks appears 45 

Many a warning fleck of gray, — 

Looking back to that far day, 

And thy primal lessons, feel 

Grateful smiles my Hps unseal, 

As, remembering thee, I blend 50 

Olden teacher, present friend. 

Wise with antiquarian search. 

In the scrolls of State and Church : 

Named on history's title-page. 

Parish clerk and justice sage ; 55 

For the ferule's wholesome awe 

Wielding now the sword of law. 

Threshing Time's neglected sheaves. 

Gathering up the scattered leaves 

Which the wrinkled sibyl° cast 60 

Careless from her as she passed, — 

Twofold citizen art thou, 

Freeman of the past and now. 

He who bore thy name of old 

Midway in the heavens did hold 65 

Over Gibeon° moon and sun; 

Thou hast bidden them backward run; 

Of to-day the present ray 

Flinging over 3^esterday ! 

Let the busy ones deride 7° 

What I deem of right thy pride : 

Let the fools their tread-mills grind 

Look not forward nor behind, 

Shuffle in and wriggle out, 

Veer with every breeze about, 75 

Turning like a windmill sail, 



212 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Or a dog that seeks his tail ; 

Let them laugh to see thee fast 

Tabernacled in the Past, 

Working out with eye and lip, 80 

Riddles of old penmanship, 

Patient as Belzoni° there 

Sorting out, with loving care, 

Mummies of dead questions stripped 

From their sevenfold manuscript ! 85 

DabbUng, in their noisy way, 

In the puddles of to-day, 

Little know they of that vast 

Solemn ocean of the past. 

On whose margin, wreck-bespread, 90 

Thou art walking with the dead, 

Questioning the stranded years. 

Waking smiles, by turns, and tears. 

As thou callest up again 

Shapes the dust has long o'erlain, — 95 

Fair-haired woman, bearded man, 

Cavalier° and Puritan; 

In an age whose eager view 

Seeks but present things, and new, 

Mad for party, sect and gold, 100 

Teaching reverence for the old. 

On that shore, with fowler's tact. 

Coolly bagging fact on fact. 

Naught amiss to thee can float. 

Tale, or song, or anecdote; 105 

Village gossip, centuries old. 

Scandals by our grandams told. 

What the pilgrim's table spread, 



TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER 213 

Where he lived, and whom he wed, 

Long-drawn bill of wine and beer no 

For his ordination cheer, 

Or the flip that well-nigh made 

Glad his funeral cavalcade ; 

Weary prose, and poet's lines. 

Flavored by their age, like wines, us 

Eulogistic of some ciuaint, 

Doubtful, puritanic saint; 

Lays that quickened husking jigs, 

Jests that shook grave periwigs. 

When the parson had his jokes 120 

And his glass, like other folks; 

Sermons that, for mortal hours. 

Taxed our fathers' vital powers. 

As the long nineteenthlies poured 

Downward from the sounding-board, 125 

And, for fire of Pentecost, ° 

Touched their beards December's frost. 

Time is hastening on, and we 

What our fathers are shall be, — 

Shadow-shapes of memory ! 130 

Joined to that vast multitude 

Where the great are but the good. 

And the mind of strength shall prove 

Weaker than the heart of love ; 

Pride of graybeard wisdom less 135 

Than the infant's guilelessness. 

And his song of sorrow more 

Than the crown the Psalmist wore ! 

Who shall then, with pious zeal, 

At our moss-grown thresholds kneel, 140 



214 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

From a stained and stony page 

Reading to a careless age, 

With a patient eye lilve thine, 

Prosing tale and limping line, 

Names and words the hoary rime 145 

Of the Past has made subUme ? 

Who shall work for us as well 

The antiquarian's miracle? 

Who to seeming life recall 

Teacher grave and pupil small? 150 

Who shall give to thee and me 

Freeholds in futurity ? 

Well, whatever lot be mine, 

Long and happy days be thine. 

Ere thy full and honored age 155 

Dates of time its latest page ! 

Squire for master. State for school. 

Wisely lenient, live and rule ; 

Over grown-up knave and rogue 

Play the watchful pedagogue ; 160 

Or, while pleasure smiles on duty, 

At the call of youth and beauty. 

Speak for them the spell of law 

Which shall bar and bolt withdraw, 

And the flaming sword remove 165 

From the Paradise of Love. 

Still, with undimmed eyesight, pore 

Ancient tome and record o'er; 

Still thy week-day lyrics croon, 

Pitch in church the Sunday tune, 170 

Showing something, in thy part. 

Of the old Puritanic art. 



BUENS 215 

Singer after Sternhold's° heart ! 

In thy pew, for many a year, 

HomiUes from 01dbug° hear, 175 

Who to wit Uke that of South, ° 

And the Syrian's golden mouth, 

Doth the homely pathos add 

Which the pilgrim preachers had ; 

Breaking, hke a child at play, 180 

Glided idols of the day, 

Cant of knave and pomp of fool 

Tossing with his riclicule, 

Yet, in earnest or in jest. 

Ever keeping truth abreast. 185 

And, when thou art called, at last, 

To thy townsmen of the past, 

Not as stranger shalt thou come ; 

Thou shalt find thyself at home ! 

With the httle and the big, 190 

Woollen cap and periwig, 

Madam in her high-laced ruff, 

Goody in her home-made stuff, — 

Wise and simple, rich and poor ! 

Thou hast known them all before ! 195 



BURNS ° 

ON RECEIVING A SPRIG OF HEATHER IN BLOSSOM 

No more these simple flowers belong 

To Scottish maid and lover : 
Sown in the common soil of song, 

They bloom the wide world over. 



216 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

In smiles and tears, in sun and showers, 5 

The minstrel and the heather, 
The deathless singer and the flowers 

He sang of hve together. 

Wild heather-bells and Robert Burns ! 

The moorland flower and peasant ! 10 

How, at their mention, memory turns 

Her pages old and pleasant ! 

The gray sky wears again its gold 

And purple of adorning, 
And manhood's noonday shadows hold 15 

The dews of boyhood's morning. 

The dews that washed the dust and soil 
From off the wings of pleasure, 

The sky, that flecked the ground of toil 

With golden threads of leisure. 20 

I call to mind the summer day, 

The early harvest mowing. 
The sky with sun and clouds at play, 

And flowers with breezes blowing. 

I hear the blackbird in the corn, 25 

The locust in the haying : 
And, like the fabled hunter's horn, 

Old tunes my heart is playing. 

How oft that day, with fond delay, 

I sought the maple's shadow, 30 

And sang with Burns the hours away, 
Forgetful of the meadow ! 



BURKS 217 

Bees hummed, birds twittered, overhead 

I heard the squirrels leaping. 
The good dog listened while I read, 35 

And wagged his tale in keeping. 

I watched him while in sportive mood 
I read "The Twa Dogs' "° story, 

And half beUeved he understood 

The poet's allegory. 40 

Sweet day, sweet songs ! — The golden hours 

Grew brighter for that singing, 
From brook and bird and meadow flowers 

A dearer welcome bringing. 

New light on home-seen nature beamed, 45 

New glory over Woman ; 
And daily Ufe and duty seemed 

No longer poor and common. 

I woke to find the simple truth 

Of fact and feeling better 50 

Than all the dreams that held my youth 

A still repining debtor : 

That Nature gives her handmaid. Art, 
The themes of sweet discoursing ; 

The tender idyls of the heart 55 

In every tongue rehearsing. 

Why dream of lands of gold and pearl, 

Of loving knight and lady. 
When farmer boy and barefoot girl 

Were wandering there already ? 60 



218 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

I saw through all famihar things 

The romance underlying ; 
The joys and griefs that plume the wings 

Of Fancy skyward flying. 

I saw the same blithe day return, 65 

The same sweet fall of even, 
That rose on wooded Craigieburn,° 

And sank on crystal Devon. ° 

I matched with Scotland's heathery hills 
The sweetbrier and the clover; 70 

With Ayr and Doon,° my native rills, 
Their wood-hymns chanting over. 

O'er rank and pomp, as he had seen, 

I saw the Man uprising ; 
No longer common or unclean, 75 

The child of God's baptizing ! 

With clearer eyes I saw the worth 

Of life among the lowly ; 
The Bible at his cotter's hearth° 

Had made my own more holy. 80 

And if at times an evil strain, 

To lawless love appealing. 
Broke in upon the sweet refrain 

Of pure and healthful feeling, 

It died upon the eye and ear, 85 

No inward answer gaining; 
. No heart had I to see or hear 
The discord and the staining. 



BURNS 219 

Let those who never erred forget 

His worth, in vain bewaihngs; 90 

Sweet Soul of Song ! — I own my debt 

Uncancelled by his failings ! 

Lament who will the ribald line 

Which tells his lapse from duty, 
How kissed the maddening lips of wine 95 

Or wanton ones of beauty ; 

But think, while falls that shade between 

The erring one and Heaven, 
That he wlio loved like Magdalen, 

Like her may be forgiven. 100 

Not his the song whose thunderous chime 

Eternal echoes render — 
The mournful Tuscan's ° haunted rhyme, 

And Milton's starry splendor ! 

But who his human heart has laid 105 

To Nature's bosom nearer? 
Who sw^eetened toil like him, or paid 

To love a tribute dearer? 

Through all his tuneful art, how strong 
The human feeling gushes ! no 

The very moonlight of his song 
Is warm with smiles and blushes ! 

Give lettered pomp to teeth of Time, 

So " Bonnie Doon" but tarry; 
Blot out the Epic's stately rhyme, 115 

But spare his Highland Mary°! 



220 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



THE VOICES 



" Why urge the long, unequal fight, 
Since Truth has fallen in the street, 

Or lift anew the trampled light, 

Quenched by the heedless million's feet ? 

" Give o'er the thankless task ; forsake 5 

The fools who know not ill from good: 

Eat, drink, enjoy thy own, and take 
Thine ease among the multitude. 

"Live out thyself; with others share 

Thy proper life no more ; assume 10 

The unconcern of sun and air, 

For life or death, or blight or bloom. 

''The mountain pine looks calmly on 
The fires that scourge the plains below, 

Nor heeds the eagle in the sun 15 

The small birds piping in the snow ! 

" The world is God's, not thine ; let Him 
Work out a change, if change must be : 

The hand that planted best can trim 

And nurse the old unfruitful tree." 20 

So spake the Tempter, when the light 
Of sun and stars had left the sky, 

I listened, through the cloud and night, 
And heard, methought, a voice reply : 

'' Thy task may well seem over-hard, 25 

Who scatterest in a thankless soil 



THE VOICES 221 

Thy life as seed, with no reward 
Save that which Duty gives to Toil. 

'' Not wholly is thy heart resigned 

To Heaven's benign and just decree, 30 

Which, hnking thee with all thy kind, 

Transmits their joys and griefs to thee. 

" Break off that sacred chain, and turn 

Back on thyself thy love and care ; 
Be thou thine own mean idol, burn 35 

Faith, Hope, and Trust, thy children, there. 

''Released from that fraternal law 

Which shares the common bale and bhss, 

No sadder lot could Folly draw, 

Or Sin provoke from Fate, than this. 40 

'' The meal unshared is food unblest : 

Thou hoard'st in vain what love should spend; 

Self-ease is pain; thy only rest 
Is labor for a worthy end. 

'' A toil that gains with what it yields, 45 

And scatters to its own increase, 
And hears, while sowing outward fields, 

The harvest-song of inward peace. 

" Free-lipped the liberal streamlets run, 

Free shines for all the healthful ray; 50 

The still pool stagnates in the sun, 
The lurid earth-fire haunts decay ! 

''What is it that the crowd requite 

Thy love with hatC; thy truth with lies? 



222 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

And but to faith, and not to sight, 55 

The walls of Freedom's temple rise ? 

" Yet do thy work ; it shall succeed 

In thine or in another's day; 
And, if denied the victor's meed. 

Thou shalt not lack the toiler's pay. 60 

*' Faith shares the future's promise; Love's 

Self-offering is a triumph won; 
And each good thought or action moves 

The dark world nearer to the sun. 

''Then faint not, falter not, nor plead 65 

Thy weakness ; truth itself is strong ; 

The hon's strength, the eagle's speed. 
Are not alone vouchsafed to wrong. 

''Thy nature, which, through fire and flood, 
To place or gain finds out its way, 70 

Hath power to seek the highest good, 
And duty's hohest call obey ! 

" Strivest thou in darkness ? — Foes without 
In league with traitor thoughts within ; 

Thy night-watch kept with treml^ling doubt 75 
And pale remorse the ghost of Sin ? — 

" Hast thou not, on some week of storm, 
Seen the sweet Sabbath breaking fair, 

And cloud and shadow, sunlit, form 

The curtains of its tent of prayer ? 80 



THE HERO 223 

"So, haply, when thy task shall end, 
The wrong shall lose itself in right, 

And all thy week-day darkness blend 
With the long Sabbath of the Ught !" 

THE HERO° 

"0 FOR a knight like Bayard, ° 

Without reproach or fear; 
My light glove on his casque of steel, 

My love-knot on his spear ! 

'^ for the white plume floating s 

Sad Zutphen's° field above, — 
The hon heart in battle. 

The woman's heart in love ! 

" O that man once more were manly, 

Woman's pride, and not her scorn : lo 

That once more the pale young mother 
Dared to boast ' a man is born ' ! 

" But, now life's slumberous current 

No sun-bowed cascade wakes; 
No tall, heroic manhood 15 

The level dulness breaks. 

" O for a knight like Bayard, 

Without reproach or fear; 
My light glove on his casque of steel. 

My love-knot on his spear!" 20 

Then I said, my own heart throbl)ing 
To the time her proud pulse beat. 



224 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

" Life hath its regal natures yet, — 
True, tender, brave, and sweet ! 

'^ Smile not, fair unbeliever! 25 

One man, at least, I know, 
Who might wear the crest of Bayard 

Or Sidney's plume of snow. 

'' Once, when over purple mountains 

Died away the Grecian sun, 30 

And the far Cyllenian° ranges 

Paled and darkened, one by one, — 

" Fell the Turk, a bolt of thunder. 

Cleaving all the quiet sky, 
And against his sharp steel lightnings 35 

Stood the Suliote° but to die. 

" Woe for the weak and halting ! 

The crescent blazed behind 
A curving line of sabres. 

Like fire before the wind ! 40 

" Last to fly, and first to rally. 

Rode he of whom I speak. 
When, groaning in his bridle-path, 

Sank down a wounded Greek. 

'^With the rich Albanian^ costume 45 

Wet with many a ghastly stain, 

Gazing on earth and sky as one 
Who might not gaze again ! 

" He looked forward to the mountains, 

Back on foes that never spare, 50 



THE HERO 225 



Then flung him from his saddle, 
And placed the stranger there. 



'' ' Allah ! ° hu ! ' Through flashing sabres, 

Through a stormy hail of lead, 
The good Thessalian° charger 55 

Up the slopes of olives sped. 

" Hot spurred the turbaned riders, 

He almost felt their breath, 
Where a mountain stream rolled darkly down 

Between the hills and death. 60 

'' One brave and manful struggle, — 

He gained the solid land, 
And the cover of the mountains. 

And the carbines of his band !" 

"It was very great and noble," 65 

Said the moist-eyed listener then, 
" But one brave deed makes no hero ; 

Tell me what he since hath been !" 

"Still a brave and generous manhood, 

Still an honor without stain, 70 

In the prison of the Kaiser, 
By the barricades of Seine. ° 

" But dream not helm and harness 

The sign of valor true ; 
Peace hath higher tests of manhood 75 

Than battle ever knew. 

"Wouldst know him now? Behold liim, 
The Cadmus ° of the bhnd, 



226 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Giving the dumb lip language. 

The idiot clay a mind. 80 

" Walking his round of duty 

Serenely day by day, 
With the strong man's hand of labor 

And childhood's heart of play. 

'' True as the knights of story, 85 

Sir Lancelot and his peers, ° 
Brave in his calm endurance 

As they in tilt of spears. 

"As waves in stillest waters, 

As stars in noonday skies, 90 

All that wakes to noble action 

In his noon of calmness lies. 

" Wherever outraged Nature 

Asks word or action brave, 
Wherever struggles labor, 95 

Wherever groans a slave, — 

" Wherever rise the peoples, 

Wherever sinks a throne. 
The throbbing heart of Freedom finds 

An answer in his own. 100 

" Knight of a better era, 

Without reproach or fear ! 
Said I not well that Bayards 

And Sidneys still are here ? '' 



THE BAREFOOT BOY 227 



THE BAREFOOT BOY° 

Blessings on thee, little man, 
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! 
With thy turned-up pantaloons, 
And thy merry whistled tunes; 
With thy red lip, redder still S 

Kissed by strawberries on the hill; 
With the sunshine on thy face. 
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; 
From my heart I give thee joy, — 
I was once a barefoot boy ! lo 

Prince thou art, — the grown-up man 
Only is republican. 
Let the million-dollared ride ! 
Barefoot, trudging at his side, 
Thou hast more than he can buy 15 

In the reach of ear and eye, — 
Outward sunshine, inward joy: 
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! 

O for boyhood's painless play. 
Sleep that wakes in laughing day, 20 

Health that mocks the doctor's rules. 
Knowledge never learned of schools. 
Of the wild bee's morning chase. 
Of the wildflower's time and place. 
Flight of fowl and habitude 25 

Of the tenants of the wood ; 
How the tortoise bears his shell. 
How the woodchuck digs his cell. 
And the ground-mole sinks his well; 



228 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

How the robin feeds her young, 30 

How the oriole's nest is hung; 

Where the whitest hhes blow, 

Where the freshest berries grow, 

Where the groundnut trails its vine, 

Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; 35 

Of the black wasp's cunning way. 

Mason of his walls of clay, 

And the architectural plans 

Of gray hornet artisans ! — 

For, eschewing books and tasks, 40 

Nature answers all he asks ; 

Hand in hand with her he walks. 

Face to face with her he talks, 

Part and parcel of her joy, — 

Blessings on the barefoot boy ! 4S 

for boyhood's time of June, 
Crowding years in one brief moon, 
When all things I heard or saw. 
Me, their master, waited for. 

1 was rich in flowers and trees, 50 
Humming-birds and honey-bees; 

For my sport the squirrel played. 

Plied the snouted mole his spade; 

For my taste the blackberry cone 

Purpled over hedge and stone; 55 

Laughed the brook for my delight 

Through the day and through the night. 

Whispering at the garden wall, 

Talked with me from fall to fall ; 

Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 60 

Mine the walnut slopes beyond. 



THE BAREFOOT BOY 229 

Mine, on bending orchard trees, 

Apples of Hesperides°! 

Still as my horizon grew, 

Larger grew my riches too, 6$ 

All the world I saw or knew 

Seemed a complex Chinese toy, 

Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! 

O for festal dainties spread, 
Like my bowl of milk and bread, — 70 

Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, 
On the door-stone, gray and rude ! 
O'er me, Hke a regal tent. 
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent. 
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 75 

Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; 
While for music came the play 
Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; 
And, to light the noisy choir, 
Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 80 

I was monarch : pomp and joy 
Waited on the barefoot boy ! 

Cheerily, then, my Httle man, 
Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! 
Though the flinty slopes be hard, 85 

Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 
Every morn shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptisms of the dew; 
Every evening from thy feet 
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : 90 

All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison cells of pride, 



230 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Lose the freedom of the sod, 

Like a colt's for work be shod, 

Made to tread the mills of toil, 95 

Up and down in ceaseless moil; 

Happy if their track be found 

Never on forbidden ground; 

Happy if they sink not in 

Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 100 

Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, 

Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! 



THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS" 

We cross the prairie as of old 

The pilgrims crossed the sea, 
To make the West, as they the East, 

The homestead of the free ! 

We go to rear a wall of men 5 

On Freedom's Southern line. 
And plant beside the cotton-tree 

The rugged Northern pine ! 

We're flowing from our native hills 

As our free rivers flow; 10 

The blessing of our Mother-land 
Is on us as we go. 

We go to plant her common schools 

On distant prairie swells, 
And give the Sabbaths of the wild 15 

The music of her bells. 



SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT 231 

Upbearing, like the Ark of old, 

The Bible in our van, 
We go to test the truth of God 

Against the fraud of man. 20 

No pause, nor rest, save where the streams 

That feed the Kansas run, 
Save where our Pilgrim gonfalon 

Shall flout the setting sun ! 

We'll tread the prairie as of old 25 

Our fathers sailed the sea. 
And make the West, as they the East, 

The homestead of the free ! 



SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT ° 

Where are we going? where are we going, 
Where are we going, Rubee ? 

Lord of peoples. Lord of lands. 
Look across these shining sands, 
Through the furnace of the noon. 
Through the white light of the moon, 
Strong the Ghiblee wind is blowing. 
Strange and large the world is growing ! 
Speak and tell us where we are going, 
Where are we going, Rubee ? 

Bornou land was rich and good, 
Wells of water, fields of food, 
Dourra fields, and bloom of bean, 



232 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

And the palm-tree cool and green : 
Bornou land we see no longer, 15 

Here we thir.st, and here we hunger, 
Here the Moor-man smites in anger : 
Where are we going, Rubee ? 

When we went from Bornou land, 
We were like the leaves and sand, 20 

We were many, we are few; 
Life has one, and death has two : 
Whitened bones our path are showing, 
Thou All-seeing, Thou All-knowing ! 
Hear us, tell us, where are we going, 25 

Where are we going, Rubee ? 

Moons of marches from our eyes 
Bornou land behind us lies; 
Stranger round us day by day 
Bends the desert circle gray; 30 

Wild the waves of sand are flowing, 
Hot the winds above them blowing, — 
Lord of all things ! — where are we going ? 
Where are we going, Rubee ? 

We are weak, but Thou art strong 35 

Short our lives, but Thine is long ; 
We are blind, but Thou hast eyes ; 
We are fools, but Thou art wise ! 

Thou, our morrow's pathway knowing 
Through the strange world round us growing, 40 
Hear us, tell us where are we going, 
Where are we going, Rubee ? 



THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 233 

THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN^ 



O'er the bare woods, whose outstretched hands 

Plead with the leaden heavens in vain, 
I see, beyond the valley lands, 

The sea's long level dim with rain. 
Around me all things, stark and dumb, s 

Seem praying for the snows to come, 
And, for the summer bloom and greenness gone, 
With winter's sunset lights and dazzhng morn atone. 



• II 

Along the river's summer walk. 

The withered tufts of asters nod; lo 

And trembles on its arid stalk 

The hoar plume of the golden rod. 
And on a ground of sombre fir. 
And azure-studded juniper. 
The silver birch its buds of purple shows, 15 

And scarlet berries tell where bloomed the sweet wild- 
rose ! 

Ill 

With mingled sound of horns and bells, 
A far-heard clang, the wild geese fly, 

Storm-sent, from Arctic moors and fells, 

Like a great arrow through the sky, 20 

Two dusky lines converged in one^ 



234 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Chasing the southward-flying sun ; 
While the brave snow-bird and the hardy jay 
Call to them from the pines, as if to bid them stay. 

IV 

I passed this way a year ago : 25 

The wind blew south; the noon of day 
Was warm as June's; and save that snow 

Flecked the low mountains far away, 
And that the vernal-seeming breeze 
Mocked faded grass and leafless trees, 30 

I might have dreamed of summer as I lay. 
Watching the fallen leaves with the soft wind at play. 



Since then, the winter blasts have piled 

The white pagodas of the snow° 
On these rough slopes, and, strong and wild, 35 

Yon river, in its overflow 
Of spring-time rain and sun, set free. 
Crashed with its ices to the sea ; 
And over these gray fields, then green and gold, 
The summer corn has waved, the thunder's organ 
rolled. 40 

VI 

Rich gift of God ! A year of time ! 

What pomp of rise and shut of day, 
What hues wherewith our Northern cHme 

Makes autumn's dropping woodlands gay, 



THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 235 

What airs outblown from ferny dells, 45 

And clover-bloom and sweetbrier smells, 
What songs of brooks and birds, what fruit and flowers, 
Green woods and moonlit snows, have in its round 
been ours ! 

VII 

I know not how, in other lands, 

The changing seasons come and go; 5° 

What splendors fall on Syrian sands, 

What purple Hghts on Alpine snow ! 
Nor how the pomp of sunrise waits 
On Venice at her watery gates ; 
A dream alone to me is Arno's° vale, ss 

And the Alhambra's° halls are but a traveller's tale. 



VIII 

Yet, on life's current, he who drifts 

Is one with him who rows or sails ; 
And he who wanders widest lifts 

No more of beauty's jealous veils 6o 

Than he who from his doorway sees 
The miracle of flowers and trees, 
Feels the warm Orient in the noonday air. 
And from cloud minaret ° hears the sunset call to 
prayer ! 

IX 

The eye may well be glad, that looks 65 

Where Pharpar's° fountains rise and fall; 



236 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

But he who sees his native brooks 
Laugh in the sun, has seen them all. 

The marble palaces of Ind° 

Rise round him in the snow and wind ; 70 

From his lone sweetbrier Persian Hafiz° smiles, 
And Rome's cathedra ° awe is in his woodland aisles. 



X 

And thus it is my fancy blends 

The near at hand and far and rare; 
And while the same horizon bends 75 

Above the silver-sprinkled hair 
Which flashed the light of morning skies 
On childhood's wonder-lifted eyes. 
Within its round of sea and sky and field. 
Earth wheels with all her zones, the Kosmos° stands 
revealed. - 80 

XI 

And thus the sick man on his bed. 

The toiler to his task-work bound, 
Behold their prison-walls outspread, 

Their chpped horizon widen round ! 
While freedom-giving fancy waits, 85 

Like Peter's angel at the gates, 
The power is theirs to baffle care and pain. 
To bring the lost world back, and make it theirs again ! 

XII 

What lack of goodly company. 

When masters of the ancient lyre 90 



THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 237 

Obey my call, and trace for me 

Their words of mingled tears and fire ! 
I talk with Bacon, ° grave and wise, 
I read the world with Pascal's ° eyes; 
And priest and sage, with solemn brows austere, 95 

And poets, garland-bound, the Lords of Thought, 
draw near. 

XIII 

Methinks, friend, I hear thee say, 

''In vain the human heart we mock; 
Bring Hving guests who love the day, 

Not ghosts who fly at crow of cock ! 100 

The herbs we share with flesh and blood 
Are better than ambrosial food, 
With laurelled shades." I grant it, nothing loath, 
But doubly blessed is he who can partake of both. 

XIV 

He who might Plato's ° banquet grace, 105 

Have I not seen before me sit. 
And watched his puritanic face. 

With more than Eastern wisdom lit? 
Shrewd mystic ! who, upon the back 
Of his Poor Richard's Almanack, ° no 

Writing 1/3 Sufi's song, the Gentoo's dream, ° 
Links Menu's age of thought ° to Fulton's age of steam ! 



XV 



Here too, of answering love secure. 
Have I not welcomed to my hearth 



238 MISCELLANEOUS PGEMS 

The gentle pilgrim troubadour, 115 

Whose songs have girdled half the earth ; 
Whose pages, hke the magic mat° 
Whereon the Eastern lover sat, 
Have borne me over Rhineland's purple vines, 
And Nubia's tawny sands, and Phrygia's° mountain 
pines ! 120 

XVI 

And he, who to the lettered wealth 

Of ages adds the lore unpriced, 
The wisdom and the moral health. 

The ethics of the school of Christ; 
The statesman° to his holy trust, 125 

As the Athenian archon,° just. 
Struck down,° exiled hke him for truth alone. 
Has he not graced my home with beauty all his own? 

XVII 

What greetings smile, what farewells wave, 

What loved ones enter and depart ! 130 

The good, the beautiful, the brave, 

The Heaven-lent treasures of the heart ! 
How conscious seems the frozen sod 
And beechen slope whereon they trod ! 
The oak-leaves rustle, and the dry grass bends 135 

Beneath the shadowy feet of lost or absent friends. 

XVIII 

Then ask not why to these bleak hills 
I cling as clings the tufted moss, 



THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 239 

To bear the winter's lingering chills, 

The mocking spring's perpetual loss. 140 

I dream of lands where summer smiles, 

And soft winds blow from spicy isles, 
But scarce would Ceylon's breath of flowers be sweet. 
Could I not feel thy soil. New England, at my feet ! 



XIX 

At times I long for gentler skies, 145 

And bathe in dreams of softer air. 
But homesick tears would fill the eyes 

That saw the Cross without the Bear.° 
The pine must whisper to the palm. 
The north-wind break the tropic calm; 150 

And with the dreamy languor of the Line,° 
The North's keen virtue blend, and strength to beauty 
join. 

XX 

Better to stem with heart and hand 

The roaring tide of life than lie. 
Unmindful, on its flowery strand, 155 

Of God's occasions drifting by ! 
Better with naked nerve to bear 
The needles of this goading air. 
Than, in the lap of sensual ease, forego 
The godhke power to do, the godlike aim to know. 160 



XXI 

Home of my heart ! to me more fair 
Than gay Versailles or Windsor's halls. 



240 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

The painted, shingly town-house where 

The freeman's vote for Freedom falls ! 
The simple roof where prayer is made, 165 

Than Gothic groin° and colonnade ; 
The Hving temple of the heart of man, 
Than Rome's 'sky-mocking vault, or many-spired 
Milan° ! 

XXII 

More dear thy equal village schools. 

Where rich and poor the Bible read, 170 

Than classic halls where Priestcraft rules, 

And Learning wears the chains of Creed; 
Thy glad Thanksgiving, gathering in 
The shattered sheaves of home and kin. 
Than the mad license following Lenten pains, 175 

Or holidays of slaves who laugh and dance in chains. 

XXIII 

And sweet homes nestle in these dales. 

And perch along these wooded swells; 
And, blest beyond Arcadian vales, ° 

They hear the sound of Sabbath bells ! 180 

Here dwells no perfect man sublime, 
Nor woman winged before her time, 
But with the faults and follies of the race, 
Old home-bred virtues hold their not unhonored place. 

XXIV 

Here manhood struggles for the sake 185 

Of mother, sister, daughter, wife, 



THE LAST WALK IN AUTUMN 241 

The graces and the loves which make 
The music of the march of Ufe; 

And woman, in her daily round 

Of duty, walks on holy ground. 190 

No unpaid menial tills the soil, nor here 
Is the bad lesson learned at human rights to sneer. 

XXV 

Then let the icy north-wind blow 

The trumpets of the coming storm, 
To arrowy sleet and blinding snow 195 

Yon slanting lines of rain transform — 
Young hearts shall hail the drifted cold, 
As gayly as I did of old ; 
And I, who watch them through the frosty pane, 
Unenvious, live in them my boyhood o'er again. 200 

XXVI 

And I will trust that He who heeds 

The life that hides in mead and wold, 
Who hangs yon alder's crimson beads, 

And stains these mosses green and gold, 
Will still, as He hath done, incline 205 

His gracious care to me and mine; 
Grant what we ask aright, from wrong debar, 
And, as the earth grows dark, make brighter every star ! 

XXVII 

I have not seen, I may not see, 

My hopes for man take form in fact, 210 



242 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

But God will give the victory 
In due time ; in that faith I act. 

And he who sees the future sure, 

The baffling present may endure, 
And bless, meanwhile, the unseen Hand that leads 215 
The heart's desires beyond the halting step of deeds. 

XXVIII 

And thou, my song, I send thee forth. 

Where harsher songs of mine have flown; 
Go, find a place at home and hearth 

Where'er thy singer's name is known; 220 

Revive for him the kindly thought 
Of friends ; and they who ove him not, 
Touched by some strain of thine, perchance may take 
The hands he proffers all, and thank him for thy sake. 

THE MAYFLOWERS° 

Sad Mayflower ! watched by winter stars, 

And nursed by winter gales, 
With petals of the sleeted spars, 

And leaves of frozen sails ! 

What had she in those dreary hours, 5 

Within her ice-rimmed bay, 
In common with the wild-wood flowers, 

The first sweet smiles of May ? 

Yet, "God be praised !" the Pilgrim said. 

Who saw the blossoms peer 10 

Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, 
" Behold our Mayflower here !" 



THE EVE OF ELECTION 243 

" God wills it : here our rest shall be, 

Our years of wandering o'er, 
For us the Mayflower of the sea 15 

Shall spread her sails no more." 

O sacred flowers of faith and hope, 

As sweetly now as then 
Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, 

In many a pine-dark glen. 20 

Behind the sea-wall's rugged length. 

Unchanged, your leaves unfold, 
Like love behind the manly strength 

Of the brave hearts of old. 

So live the fathers in their sons, 25 

Their sturdy faith be ours, 
And ours the love that overruns 

Its rocky strength with flowers. 

The Pilgrim's wild and wintry day 

Its shadow round us draws ; 30 

The Mayflower of his stormy iDay, 

Our Freedom's struggling cause. 

But warmer suns ere long shall bring 

To hfe the frozen sod; 
And, through dead leaves of hope, shall spring 35 

Afresh the flowers of God ! 



THE EVE OF ELECTION 

From gold to gray 
Our mild sweet day 
Of Indian summer fades too soon; 



244 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

But tenderly 

Above the sea 5 

Hangs, white and calm, the hunter's moon. 

In its pale fire 

The village spire 
Shows like the zodiac's spectral lance; 

The painted walls 10 

Whereon it falls 
Transfigured stand in marble trance ! 

O'er fallen leaves 

The west-wind grieves, 
Yet comes a seed-time round again; 15 

And morn shall see 

The State sown free 
With baleful tares or healthful grain. 

Along the street 

The shadows meet 20 

Of Destiny, whose hands conceal 

The moulds of fate 

That shape the State, 
And make or mar the common weal. 

Around I see 25 

The powers that be; 
I stand by Empire's primal springs; 

And princes meet, 

In every street. 
And hear the tread of uncrowned kings ! 30 

Hark ! through the crowd 
The laugh runs loud, 



THE EVE OF ELECTION 245 

Beneath the sad, rebuking moon. 

God save the land 

A careless hand 35 

May shake or swerve ere morrow's noon ! 

No jest is this; 

One cast amiss 
May blast the hope of Freedom's year. 

Oh, take me where 40 

Are hearts of prayer. 
And foreheads bowed in reverent fear ! 

Not lightly fall 

Beyond recall 
The written scrolls a breath can float; 4S 

The crowning fact 

The kingliest act 
Of Freedom, is the freeman's vote ! 

For pearls that gem 

A diadem 50 

The diver in the deep sea dies ; 

The regal right 

We boast to-night 
Is ours through costlier sacrifice ; 

The blood of Vane,° 55 

His prison pain 
Who traced the path the Pilgrim trod, 

And hers whose faith 

Drew strength from death, 
And prayed her Russell ° up to God ! 60 

Our hearts grow cold, 
We hghtly hold 



246 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

A right which brave men died to gain; 

The stake, the cord, 

The axe, the sword, 65 

Grim nurses at its birth of pain 

The shadow rend. 

And o'er us bend, 
O martyrs, with your crowns and palms, — 

Breathe through these throngs 70 

Your battle songs. 
Your scaffold prayers, and dungeon psalms ! 

Look from the sky. 

Like God's great eye. 
Thou solemn noon, with searching beam, 75 

Till in the sight 

Of thy pure light 
Our mean self-seekings meaner seem. 

Shame from our hearts 

Unworthy arts, 80 

The fraud designed, the purpose dark; 

And smite away 

The hands we lay 
Profanely on the sacred ark. 

To party claims 85 

And private aims. 
Reveal that august face of Truth, 

Whereto are given 

The age of heaven. 
The beauty of immortal youth. 90 

So shall our voice 
Of sovereign choice 



MY PSALM 247 

Swell the deep bass of duty done, 

And strike the key 

Of time to be, 95 

When God and man shall speak as one ! 



MY PSALM 

I MOURN no more my vanished years : 

Beneath a tender rain, 
An April rain of smiles and tears. 

My heart is young again. 

The west winds blow, and, singing low, 5 

I hear the glad streams run ; 
The windows of my soul I throw 

Wide open to the sun. 

No longer forward nor behind 

I look in hope or fear; 10 

But, grateful, take the good I find, 

The best of now and here. 

I plough no more a desert land. 

To harvest weed and tare ; 
The manna dropping from God's hand 15 

Rebukes my painful care. 

I break my pilgrim staff, — I lay 

Aside the toiling oar ; 
The angel sought so far away 

I welcome at my door, 20 

The airs of spring may never play 
Among the ripening corn, 



248 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Nor freshness of the flowers of May 
Blow through the autumn morn; 

Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look 25 

Through fringed lids to heaven, 
And the pale aster in the brook 

Shall see its image given ; — 

The woods shall wear their robes of praise, 
The south-wind softly sigh, 30 

And sweet, calm days in golden haze 
Melt down the amber sky. 

Not less shall manly deed and word 

Rebuke an age of wrong; 
The graven flowers that wreathe the sword 35 

Make not the blade less strong. 

But smiting hands shall learn to heal, — 

To build as to destroy; 
Nor less my heart for others feel 

That I the more enjoy. 40 

All as God wills, who wisely heeds 

To give or to withhold, 
And knoweth more of all my needs 

Than all my prayers have told ! 

Enough that blessings undeserved 45 

Have marked my erring track ; — 

That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, 
His chastening turned me back ; — 

Tl^at more and more a Providence 

Of love is understood, 50 



THY WILL BE DONE 249 

Making the springs of time and sense 
Sweet with eternal good ; — 

That death seems but a covered way 

Which opens into hght, 
Wherein no bhnded child can stray ^^ 

Beyond the Father's sight ; — 

That care and trial seem at last, 

Through Memory's sunset air, 
Like mountain-ranges overpast. 

In purple distance fair ; — 60 

That all the jarring notes of life 

Seem blending in a psalm, 
And all the angles of its strife 

Slow rounding into calm. 

And so the shadows fall apart, 65 

And so the west- winds play; 
And all the windows of my heart 

I open to the day. 



THY WILL BE DONE° 

We see not, know not ; all our way 
Is night, — with Thee alone is day : 
From out the torrent's troubled drift, 
Above the storm our prayers we lift, 
Thy will be done ! 

The flesh may fail, the heart may faint 
But who are we to make complaint, 



250 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Or dare to plead, in times like these 
The weakness of our love of ease ? 

Thy will be done ! lo 

We take with solemn thankfulness 
Our burden up, nor ask it less, 
And count it joy that even we 
May suffer, serve, or wait for Thee, 

Whose will be done ! is 

Though dim as yet in tint and line, 
We trace Thy picture's wise design. 
And thank Thee that our age supplies 
Its dark relief of sacrifice. 

Thy will be done ! 20 

And if, in our unworthiness, 

Thy sacrificial wine we press ; 

If from Thy ordeal's heated bars 

Our feet are seamed with crimson scars, 

Thy will be done ! 25 

If, for the age to come, this hour 
Of trial hath vicarious power, 
And, blest by Thee, our present pain, 
Be Liberty's eternal gain, 

Thy will be done ! 30 

Strike, Thou the Master, we Thy keys. 

The anthem of the destinies ! 

The minor of Thy loftier strain, 

Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain. 

Thy will be done ! 35 



THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862 251 



THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862° 

The flags of war like storm-birds fly, 

The charging trumpets blow; 
Yet rolls no thunder in the sky, 

No earthquake strives below. 

And, calm and patient, Nature keeps 5 

Her ancient promise well, 
Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps 

The battle's breath of hell. 

And still she walks in golden hours 

Through harvest-happy farms, 10 

And still she wears her fruits and flowers 

Like jewels on her arms. 

What mean the gladness of the plain 

This joy of eve and morn, 
The mirth that shakes the beard of grain 15 

And yellow locks of corn ? 

Ah ! eyes may well be full of tears, 

And hearts with hate are hot ; 
But even-paced come round the years, 

And Nature changes not. 20 

She meets with smiles our bitter grief. 

With songs our groans of pain ; 
She mocks with tint of flower and leaf 

The war-field's crimson stain. 

Stifl, in the cannon's pause, we hear as 

Her sweet thanksgiving-psalm ; 



262 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

Too near to God for doubt or fear, 
She shares the eternal calm. 

She knows the seed lies safe below 

The fires that blast and burn ; 30 

For all the tears of blood we sow 

She waits the rich return. 

She sees with clearer eye than ours 

The good of suffering born, — 
The hearts that blossom like her flowers^ 35 

And ripen like her corn. 

Oh, give to us, in times like these. 

The vision of her eyes ; 
And make her fields and fruited trees 

Our golden prophecies ! 40 

Oh, give to us her finer ear ! 

Above this stormy din, 
We too would hear the bells of cheer 

Ring peace and freedom in. 



OUR RIVER° 

FOR A SUMMER FESTIVAL AT '^THE LAURELS " 
ON THE MERRIMACK 

Once more on yonder laurelled height 
The summer flowers have budded ; 

Once more with summer's golden light 
The vales of home are flooded; 



OUR RIVER 253 

And once more, by the grace of Him 5 

Of every good the Giver, 
We sing upon its wooded rim 

The praises of our river : 

Its pines above, its waves below, 

The west-wind down it blowing, 10 

As fair as when the young Brissot° 

Beheld it seaward flowing, — 
And bore its memory o'er the deep, 

To soothe a martyr's sadness, 
And fresco, in his troubled sleep, 15 

His prison-w^alls with gladness. 

We know the world is rich with streams 

Renowned in song and story. 
Whose music murmurs tl trough our dreams 

Of human love and glory : 20 

We know that Arno's banks ° are fair, 

And Rhine has castled shadows, 
And, poet-tuned, the Doon and Ayr° 

Go singing down their meadows. 

But while, unpictured and unsung 25 

By painter or by poet, 
Our river waits the tuneful tongue 

And cunning hand to show it, — 
We only know the fond skies lean 

Above it, warm with blessing, 30 

And the sweet soul of our Undine ° 

Awakes to our caressing. 

No fickle sun-god holds the flocks 
That graze its shores in keeping; 



254 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

No icy kiss of Dian° mocks 35 

The youth beside it sleeping : 
Our Christian river loveth most 

The beautiful and human; 
The heathen streams of Naiads ° boast, 

But ours of man and woman. 4° 

The miner in his cabin hears 

The ripple we are hearing; 
It whispers soft to homesick ears 

Around the settler's clearing : 
In Sacramento's vales of corn, 45 

Or Santee's bloom of cotton, 
Our river by its valley-born 

Was never yet forgotten. 

The drum rolls loud, — the bugle fills 

The summer air with clangor; so 

The war-storm shakes the solid hills 

Beneath its tread of anger; 
Young eyes that last year smiled in ours 

Now point the rifle's barrel, 
And hands then stained with fruits and flowers 55 

Bear redder stains of quarrel. 

But blue skies smile, and flowers bloom on. 

And rivers still keep flowing, — 
The dear God still His rain and sun 

On good and ill bestowing. 60 

His pine-trees whisper, '' Trust and wait ! " 

His flowers are prophesying 
That all we dread of change or fall 

His love is underlying. 



LAUS DEO 255 

And thou, O Mountain-born ! — no more 65 

We ask the wise Allotter 
Than for the firmness of thy shore, 

The calmness of thy water, 
The cheerful lights that overlay 

Thy rugged slopes with beauty, 70 

To match our spirits to our day 

And make a joy of duty. 

LAUS DEO°! 

It is done ! 

Clang of bell and roar of gun 
Send the tidings up and down. 

How the belfries rock and reel ! 

How the great guns, peal on peal, s 

Fling the joy from town to town ! 

Ring, O bells ! 

Every stroke exulting tells 
Of the burial hour of crime. 

Loud and long, that all may hear, 10 

Ring for every listening ear 
Of Eternity and Time ! 

Let us kneel : 

God's own voice is in that peal, 
And this spot is holy ground. 15 

Lord, forgive us ! What are we. 

That our eyes this glory see. 
That our ears have heard the sound ! 

For the Lord 
On the whirlwind is abroad; 20 



256 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

In the earthquake He has spoken 
He has smitten with His thunder 
The iron walls asunder 

And the gates of brass are broken ! 

Loud and long 25 

Lift the old exulting song; 
Sing with Miriam° by the sea 

He has cast the mighty down; 

Horse and rider sink and drown; 
He hath triumphed gloriously ! 30 

Did we dare, 

In our agony of prayer, 
Ask for more than He has done? 

When was ever His right hand 

Over any time or land 35 

Stretched as now beneath the sun? 

How they pale, 
Ancient myth and song and tale. 

In this wonder of our days, 

When the cruel rod of war 40 

Blossoms white with righteous law, 

And the wrath of man is praise ! 

Blotted out ! 

All within and all about 
Shall a fresher life begin; 45 

Freer breathe the universe 

As it rolls its heavy curse 
On the dead and buried sin ! 

It is done ! 
In the circuit of the sun 50 



LAUS DEO 257 

Shall the sound thereof go forth. 

It shall bid the sad rejoice, 

It shall give the dumb a voice, 
It shall belt with joy the earth ! 

Ring and swing, 55 

Bells of joy ! On morning's wing 

Send the song of praise abroad ! 
With a sound of broken chains 
Tell the nations that He reigns, 

Who alone is Lord and God ! 60 



NOTES 



PROEM (Page 1) 

This poem, written in 1847, soon after the publication of 
Voices of Freedom, is now placed at the beginning of all editions 
of Whittier's poems. It is an adequate statement of, at least, 
his earlier poetic aims, and is in all respects an admirable piece 
of self-criticism. 

3. Edmund Spenser (1552 ?-l599) was one of the two greatest 
English masters of poetry before Shakespeare wrote his plays. 
The other of the two was Chaucer. 

4. Sir PhiUp Sidney (1554-1586), a contemporary of Spen- 
ser's, was the author of a popular romance called Arcadia, and 
of some poetry and criticism. 

27. Andrew Mar veil (1621-1678) was throughout almost his 
whole life contemporary with the far greater John Milton 
(1608-1671) the author of Paradise Lost. Marvell's lyrics, to 
which Whittier refers, were the product of his earlier life. Later 
he became, like Milton, absorbed in the exciting political events 
attending the downfall of Charles I, and his execution in 1649. 
These Puritan poets were, it is plain, particularly congenial to 
Whittier' s temperament. 

SNOW-BOUND 2 [1865] (Page 3) 

Aside from the one large group of earlier poems inspired by 
his hatred of slavery, Whittier' s poetry mainly expresses moods 
of contemplation and reminiscence, and finds its subjects 
in the simpler and homlier aspects of nature and humanity. 

^ The date given opposite the title of each poem in these notes is in 
each case the date of composition, rather than that of publication. 

^ The Whittier homestead at Haverhill is now the property of the 
Whittier Memorial Association. Its rooms have been restored as 
nearly as possible to the condition described in Snoiv-Bound. The 
house is open to the public, thousands of whom visit it annually. 

259 



260 NOTES 

Holmes styled him 'Hhe Woodthrush of Essex/* and others have 
called him the Burns of New England, suggesting, however, in 
the latter case an analogy which must not be pressed too far. 

Snow-Bound portrays the scenes of Whittier's early life. 
The house in which he was born is still standing in East Haver- 
hill, Mass. It had been the family homestead for several gene- 
rations, and is the scene of Snow-Bound. The characters in the 
poem are those who really lived or visited there when Whittier 
was a boy on his father's farm. They were his father and 
mother, his brother Matthew, his sisters Mary and Elizabeth, 
and his uncle and aunt, both unmarried. Besides these mem- 
bers of his own family, there were the schoolmaster, who boarded 
in the house, and, as an occasional visitor. Miss Harriet Liver- 
more, a young woman of eccentric character and remarkable 
subsequent history. The family life was extremely simple. 
As literature there were in the house besides the Bible, only the 
almanac, the weekly newspaper, and a very few books, among 
which were a single volume of poems and, though held in great 
suspicion, "one harmless novel." "Story-telling," says Whit- 
tier, " was almost a necessary resource during the long winter 
evenings." Memories of Indian warfare, of hunting expeditions, 
and stories of witchcraft were still the common possession of the 
older people of the time. 

Sweet and simple as its story is, Snow-Bound takes its strong 
hold upon us not merely because it is a description of the family 
life of the poet's own home; nor is it even because hundreds of 
people now living in near and distant parts of America can 
look back in memory to country homesteads of their own New 
England childhood, and find them, too, essentially pictured in 
Snow-Bound. 

Love for Whittier and affection for New England may well 
be awakened by the poem; but no one should fail to see how, 
more deeply, it reveals without explaining them the strong and 
broad foundations of that New England character which em- 
bodies so much of human life at its best. And then finally 
the poem should be read as a piece of literature, for the sake of 
its own beautiful pictures and its beautiful words, which are, 
after all, perhaps the chief reason why we read poetry at all. 
In this connection Snow-Bound may well be compared with 
Burns' s The Cotter's Saturday Night, and Goldsmith's Tha 
Deserted Village. 



NOTES 261 

The first quotation standing at the beginning of the poem is 
taken from an old book dated 1851, in Whittier's possession, 
which had formerly been owned by one Bantam, a reputed 
sorcerer, who once lived in the Piscataqua region of New 
Hampshire. The second quotation is from Emerson's The 
Snow-storm. 

65. Pisa's leaning miracle. The famous Leaning Tower of 
Pisa in northern Italy is a round bell-tower or campanile, of 
white marble, eighty feet in height, which leans six feet out 
of the perpendicular. The probable cause of the deflection is 
the sinking of the ground on one side of the foundation. 

77. Aladdin's wondrous cave. See The Arabian Nights' 
Entertainment. 

90. Amun was an Egyptian, originally an Ethiopian, deity 
worshipped mainly in the form of a ram, or of a human being 
with a ram's head. 

215. "The Chief of Gambia." This line and the four subse- 
quent ones in italics ''are taken from The African Chief, a poem 
by Mrs. Sarah Wentworth Morton (1759-1846). . . . This 
poem was included in The American Preceptor, a school-book 
which was in use in Whittier's boyhood." (Riverside edition of 
Snow- Bound.) 

225. Memphremagog, a lake on the border between Ver- 
mont and Canada. 

229. St. Francois' hemlock trees. There are several locali- 
ties bearing this name in the country south of Quebec. 

231. On Norman cap. The settlers of many regions of Canada 
were French, who still retain French customs and use the French 
language. 

236. Salisbury lies at the mouth of the Merrimac River. 

242. Great Boar's Head and Little Boar's Head are on the 
coast, south of Portsmouth, N.H. 

243. The Isles of Shoals lie opposite the mouth of the Pis- 
cataqua River, near Portsmouth. 

259. Cocheco is the modern Dover, N.H. 

274. Piscataqua. vSee note on 243. 

286. Painful Sewell's ancient tome. "Painful" here has 
an old meaning of " painstaking. " William Sewel's History of 
the Quakers was a work greatly esteemed by the Quakers. 

289. Chalkley's Journal was another Quaker document. 
[Thomas Chalkley (died 1749) was a Quaker preacher. In his 



262 NOTES 

Journal he describes now upon a certain voyage the ship's 
company fell short of food and water. "To stop their mur- 
muring I told them," he says, "they should not need to cast 
lots, which was usual in such cases, which of us should die first, 
for I would freely offer up my life to do them good. One said, 
'God bless you, I will not eat any of you.' Another said, 'He 
would die before he would eat of me ' ; and so said several. 
I can truly say on that occasion, at that time, my life was not 
dear to me, and that I was serious and ingenuous in my propo- 
sition." At that juncture a large dolphin arose by the ship's 
side, and "looked him in the face." Fortunately the creature 
"readily took a hook," and saved the company from further 
temptation. 

305. The tangled ram. See the account of Abraham's 
intended sacrifice of Isaac, in Genesis xxii. 

320. Apollonius Tyanaeus, a Greek magician and pretended 
miracle-worker of the first century a.d. 

321. Hermes Trismegistus, an Egyptian philosopher of uncer- 
tain identity, to whom is ascriber^ the invention of the art of 
harmony, the lute, the lyre, the science of astrology, and many 
other things. 

332. White of Selbourne. Gilbert White (1720-1793), 
distinguished English Naturalist, was the author of a classic 
work entitled The Natural History of Selbourne. Selbourne 
is situated in the County of Surrey, England. 

398. Now bathed within the fadeless green. Elizabeth Whit- 
tier lived with her brother until her death in 1864. Her death 
was the poet's greatest bereavement. 

439. The master of the district school was George Haskell, 
who afterwards became a physician, practising in Illinois, and 
afterward in New Jersey. 

476. Pindus-born Araxes. The correct name is Aracthus. 
The stream is one of five taking their rise in the central peak of 
the Pindus Mountains in Greece. 

510. Another guest. The other guest was Miss Harriet 
Liyermore, the daughter of a New Hampshire judge. This 
brilliant but extremely eccentric woman embraced the doc- 
trine of the Second Advent, and with this belief spent much of 
her life in Palestine and Arabia, in order to be at hand to ride 
with Christ into Jerusalem in his triumphal return to his 
earthly kingdom. 



NOTES 263 

536. Petruchio's Kate is the heroine of Shakespeare's Tam- 
ing of the Shrew. 

637. Siena's saint was St. Catherine; she was a seer of visions. 

550. Smyrna is a seaport city of Syria, 

551. Malta is an important island of the Mediterranean, near 
Sicily, owned by England. 

555. The crazy Queen of Lebanon was Lady Hester Stanhope, 
an Englishwoman of good family, who dwelt in a palace on 
Mt. Lebanon in Palestine, in the same expectation as that held 
by Miss Livermore (see note on line 510). The two fell out in 
jealousy of each other's expected privileges. 

669. Calvin's creed. John Calvin (L509-1564) was the founder 
of the form of religious belief which underlies Presbyterianism. 

683. Thomas EUwood, a Quaker poet of the seventeenth 
century, was a friend of Milton, and the author of an epic 
entitled Davideis, which now possesses only historical interest. 
,. 693. The Creek Indians were removed from their original 
home in Georgia to lands^west of the Mississippi during Whittier's 
boyhood. 

694. M'Gregor was a Scotchman who, in 1822, headed one 
of the earliest " filibustenng " expeditions in Central America. 
The object of the expedition, the piratical seizing of territory 
whereon to found a colony, failed. 

696. Mt. Taygetos, in Greece, is situated in*the territory 
consecrated by the Greek struggle for freedom against Turkey. 
Alexander, Prince Ypsilanti, was one of the Greek revolutionary 
leaders. He drew followers from the province of Maina. 

741. Truce of God was a name given to an historic com- 
pact in force during the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth cen- 
turies, generally applying throughout Western Europe, whereby 
the barons were to do no fighting from Wednesday evening till 
Monday morning, or during Advent or Lent, or on principal 
saints' days. Pilgrims, priests, women, and merchants were 
to receive special exemption from pillage. Violation of the 
Truce was punishable by excommunication by the Church. 

746. These Flemish pictures. Flemish or Dutch artists 
found favorite subjects for their paintings in domestic interiors. 

SONGS OF LABOR (Page 28) 

This group of poems was collected from the magazines in 
which they first appeared and published in book form in 1850. 



264 NOTES 

Though the forms of labor which gave titles to the various poems 
of the group have materially changed in the half century since 
they were written, the poems themselves breathe a spirit that 
has neither place nor time, and must always be contemporary. 
Perhaps in these poems, too, as much as in any, Whittier be- 
came not merely a poet of New England or of the North, but 
a poet of our national life. 

DEDICATION [1850] 

22. Beauty is its own excuse. "For the idea of this line," 
we are told by Whittier, "I am endebted to Emerson in his 
imitable sonnet to the Rhodora : — 

' If eyes were made for seeing, 
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being.' " 

THE SHIPBUILDERS [1846] (Page 30) 

Compare this poem with Longfellow's Building of the Ship. 
59. The Hebrides lie west of the northern part of Scotland. 
69. No Lethean drug. The reference is to the Chinese opium 
trade. ,♦ 

THE SHOEMAKERS [1845] (Page 32) 

2. The Gentle Craft of Leather. This expression is a reference 
to the mediaeval organization in the chief European countries 
of those who practised certain occupations into guilds or 
crafts somewhat on the lines of the modern trades-unions. 
These guilds exercised at times vital influence of a social and 
political as well as industrial sort. 

7. St. Crispin's day, October 25, commemorates a Christian 
martyr of the third century who had supported himself by mak- 
ing shoes, while he was a preacher of the gospel. 

17. The Spanish main was that portion of the Atlantic be- 
tween Cuba and the northern coast of South America, includ- 
ing the Caribbean Sea. It was so called particularly in the six- 
teenth century. 

27. Florentine. Silk manufacture is an important industry 
of Florence in Northern Italy. 



NOTES 2^^ 

49. Hans Sachs (1497-1576) was a famous cobbler-poet of 
NuremVjiirg. 

51. Robert Bloomfield (1766-1823), a little-remembered 
English poet, author of The Farmer's Boy, and William 
Gifford (1757-1826) a satirist and first editor of the Quarterly 
Revieiv, were both in their early days shoemakers. 

52. Roger Sherman (1721-1793), a signer of the Declaration 
of Independence, had been a shoemaker in New Milford, Con- 
necticut. 

54. Jacob Behmen, or Boehme, or Bohm (1494-1576), was 
i\ German mystic. 

56. George Fox (1624-1690), an eccentric genius, who 
habitually clad himself in leather clothes, was founder of the 
sect of Quakers. 

63. Hebe was cup-bearer at the banquets of the Olympian 
gods of the Greek mythology. 

70. Saratoga in New York State was at the time of the writ- 
ing of this poem a particular resort of fashionable society dur- 
ing the summer months. 

72. The Crystal Mountains, an early name for the White 
Mountains of New Hampshire, derived from the discovery in 
them of crystals, at the time supposed to be precious stones. 

THE DROVERS [1847] (Page 35) 

60. Pharaoh's evil cattle. See Genesis xli. 2-4. 

87. Kearsarge is a mountain near Concord, N.H. (2943 ft.). 

THE FISHERMEN [1845] (Page 39) 

22. Brador's rocks are in Prince Edward Island. 

33. The Red Island lies in Placentia Bay, Newfoundland. 

39. The Mickmacks are the tribe of Indians inhabiting Nova 
Scotia and the regions immediately to the north of it. 

54. The fish of Tobit. The story of this fish is contained in ll:o 
sixth, seventh, and eighth chapters of the apocryphal book of 
Tobit. The fish served as a charm which drove away an evil 
spirit from the bride of Tobias, the son of Tobit, and thereby 
saved Tobias from the fate of the lady's seven other previous 
husbands. 



266 NOTES 

THE HUSKERS [1847] (Page 42) and the corn-song [1847] 
(Page 45) 

the lumbermen [1845] (Page 47) 

33. Ambijejis. The localities mentioned in this stanza may 
all be found on any good map of the interior of Maine. 

42. Mt, Katahdin is one of the highest mountains in New 
England, and the highest in Maine (5200 ft.). 

CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK [1843] (Page 52) 

A story of Quaker persecution. It was not uncommon to 
sell Quakers into slavery, or, in fact, criminals who had com- 
mitted certain offences. 

4. The Chaldean lions. See the story of Daniel in the lion's 
den, Daniel vi. 16-24. 

30. Wenham, in Essex County, Mass. 

49, Paul and Silas, within Philippi' s cell. See Acts xvi. 19-40. 

50. From Peter's sleeping limbs. See Acts xii. 1-17. 

54. Hermon's holy hill. Mt. Hermon is a mountain in 
Syria on the borders of Palestine, often mentioned in the Old 
Testament. 

84. Endicott. John Endicott (1589-1665) was colonial 
governor of Massachusetts in 1658. 

99. The house of Rimmon. A deity in the form of an idol 
worshipped by the Syrians of Damascus. 

119. Tekoa, a town of the early kingdom of Israel, west of the 
Dead Sea. 

FUNERAL TREE OF THE SOKOKIS [1841] (Page 61) 

1. Sebago Lake is in Cumberland County, Maine. 

PENTUCKET [1838] (Page 65) 

On August 30, 1708, a force of French and Indians, invading 
New England from Canada, attacked Haverhill, Mass., killing 
forty of the inhabitants, and carrying away one hundred. 
This is the event on which the poem is based. Haverhill 
was called by the Indians, Pentucket, 



NOTES 267 

31. Pompeii was overwhelmed and buried with ashes by an 
eruption of Vesuvius in a.d. 79. 

82. De Rouville was the French commander of the expedi- 
tion. 

THE EXILES [1841] (Page. 68) 

This spirited narrative of Quaker persecution gives a vivid 
picture of the intolerance of 1660 in Massachusetts. The 
treatment of Quakers equalled in severity that accorded to 
witches. 

83. Preston Pans. This battle was fought between the 
Scotch forces of the young Stuart prince, Charles Edward, and 
the English on a field near Edinburgh; but as its date was 1745, 
it will be seen that in this instance Whittier's history is some- 
what confused. Marston Moor was won by Cromwell's army 
against the Royalist forces of Charles I in 1644. 

84. Ireton was one of the commanders of the Puritan forces 
in the battle of Marstoii Moor, and was the son-in-law of Crom- 
well. 

85. The Puritans were those who held like principles with 
Cromwell in the controversies and warfare which resulted in the 
execution of Charles I in 1649. The followers of the king were 
popularly called Cavaliers. Generally speaking, the ancestors 
of the Massachusetts colonists were Puritans, and those of the 
colonists of Virginia, Cavaliers. 

87. Prince Rupert, the nephew of Charles I, was the com- 
mander of the Cavalier forces at Marston Moor. Oliver Crom- 
well (1.599-1658) is of course Charles's great opponent and 
conqueror. 

95. Smitten ear. A reference to the act of the disciple Peter 
in cutting off the ear of the servant of the High Priest, at the 
time of Christ's betrayal by Judas. See Luke xxii. 50-51. 

166. Crane-neck, and the other localities named in the fol- 
lowing seven stanzas, are such as lie in or near the mouth of the 
Merrimac River in northeastern Massachusetts. The major 
ones may be identified upon a good map of the region. 

197. Cape Ann lies to the south of the mouth of the Merri- 
mac. 

198. Gloucester, an important sea-coast town of Massachu- 
setts, lies south of Cape Ann. 



268 NOTES 

209. The bleak and stormy Cape which the adventurous 

Macey rounded in his wherry was Cape Cod. 

211. Nantucket lies to the south of the peninsula of Cape 
Cod. The island had already been purchased by Macey and 
some of his neighbors to be a place of refuge in case of trouble 
with the Puritans. 



THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA [1847] (Page 77) 

This poem is based on incidents recorded in a letter describ- 
ing the battle of Buena Vista (1847) in the Mexican War. One 
of the Mexican women, who gave such aid to the wounded as 
they were able, was found sharing her ministrations among 
friend and foe alike. 

1. Ximena should be pronounced Hema'na (Sp.). 

BARCLAY OF URY [1847] (Page 81) 

Barclay of Ury was, says Whittier, one of the earliest converts 
to the doctrines of the Quakers in Scotland. He had fought 
with distinction under the great Swedish king, Gustavus Adol- 
phus, but, as a Quaker, was subjected to persecution and 
abuse. "I find more satisfaction," he said, "as well as honor, 
in being thus insulted for my religious principles, than when, 
a few years ago, it was usual for the magistrates, as I passed the 
city of Aberdeen, to meet me on the road and conduct me to 
public entertainment in their hall, and then escort me out again, 
to gain my favor." 

1. Aberdeen is an important city in northeastern Scotland. 

35. Liitzen, near Leipzig, was the scene of a great battle 
between the Swedes and Germans in 1632, in which the Swedes 
were victorious, but lost their leader, Gustavus Adolphus, in 
the hour of triumph. 

56. Tilly. Count von Tilly (1559-1632) was a fierce and 
merciless commander in the Thirty Years' War. His name 
became proverbial for barbarity. 

81. The snooded daughter. The snood is a fillet which in 
Scotland binds, or used to bind, the hair of young girls. 

99. The Tolbooth prison. Tolbooth itself is a Scottish 
word for prison. 



NOTES 269 



THE LEGEND OF ST. MARK [1849] (Page 8&) 

The great Italian painter, Tintoretto (1518-1594), made the 
legend told in this poem the subject of a great picture. It is 
described by Mrs. Jameson, Sacred and Legendary Art, Vol. I, 
p. 121. 

9. Tintoretto. An Italian painter, pupil of Titian. See pre- 
ceding paragraph. 

13. Provence was the name of an old province in the south- 
eastern part of France. 

65. Dothan. For the story of Elisha at Dothan in Samaria 
of Palestine, see 2 Kings vi. 8-23. 



KATHLEEN [1849] (Page 89) 

In the colonial days of America, particularly in the seventeenth 
century, white slaves were not unknown. Sometimes they were 
kidnapped from seaport towns in Europe, sometimes they were 
sentenced to slavery for debt, for political offences, and for 
crime. 

5. Galaway. Galway, see line 112, is a county in western 
Ireland. 

13. Kern was a name for an Irish footman. 

19. Shealing-fires, i.e. the fires in the cottages or huts of the 
peasants. 

41. Limerick is an Irish seaport town. 

49. The Banshee was a fairy in the Gaelic folk-lore. 



TAULER [1853] (Page 93) 

Johann Tauler, a religious thinker of dreamy tendencies, 
lived in Germany from 1290 to 1361. 

62. The weary schoolmen. The schoolmen were mediaeval 
scholars, chiefly monks, who, neglecting the facts of common 
experience, practised abstract speculation, and attained great 
skill in the art of disputation. 

71. Erwin von Steinbach (died 1318) was a famous German 
architect. 



270 NOTES 



MAUD MULLER [1854] (Page 96) 

Among all Whittier' s poems perhaps no ballad equals this one 
in its general popularity. 

THE RANGER [1856] (Page 100) 

"Originally published as Martha Mason; a Song of the Old 
French War." (Author's note.) 

11. The lion . . . Abraham's rock. The lion, here, is the 
symbol of British power, which had fortified the Plains of 
Abraham at Quebec. 

37. Casco Bay is on the coast of Maine. Portland stands 
upon its shore. 

THE WITCH'S DAUGHTER [1857] (Page 106) 

This ballad, and the following six in these selections, were 
published together in 1860 under the title Home Ballads. 

32. Derbyshire and Yorkshire are counties in the central, 
and northeastern parts, respectively, of England. 

33. Norman William was William I, called the Conqueror, 
who became king of England after the battle of Senlac in 1066. 

35. The Saxon thane. In the days before William the Con- 
queror, England was ruled by Saxons, whose thanes possessed 
social rank equivalent to that of a baron. 

36. The hovering Dane. The chief opponents and rivals 
of the Saxons in their control of England during the ninth ; 
and tenth centuries were the Danes, who occupied northern 
England, and finally in 1016, under Canute, made conquest 
of the whole of England. 

82. Salem's dreary jail. Salem, Mass., was a centre of the 
persecution of witches in the middle of the seventeenth century 
in New England. Read Longfellow's Giles Corey. 

THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN [1857] (Page 114) 

Cape Ann lies on the Massachusetts coast, north of Gloucester, 
which is alluded to in line 2. 

8. Rantoul. Robert Rantoul (1805-1852) was a congress- 



NOTES 271 

man from Massachusetts and a friend of Whittier's. Whit- 
tier has honored him with a poem bearing his name. 

11. Magnalia Christi. Magnalia Christi Americana (The 
Great Deeds of Christ in America), by Cotton Mather. 

12. Ovid. Pubhus Ovidius Naso (b.c. 43-a.d. 18) was an 
important Roman poet. 

21. The Covenanter. In 1638 the Scottish Parhament 
made an agreement, ratified by the Parliament of England in 
1643, for the preservation of the reformed reUgion of -Scotland, 
and "the extirpation of Popery and Prelacy." The signers of 
this ''Solemn League and Covenant" were called Covenanters 
and became after 1660 themselves the objects of bitter persecu- 
tion. About 18,000 of them were put to death during three 
decades. 

SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE [1857] (Page 120) 

This stirring ballad is based upon an incident which came to 
Whittier's ears in verse form in his boyhood. Whittier after- 
wards discovered that he had unwittingly perverted the facts 
of an actual occurrence, to the detriment of the memory of a 
real skipper, whose mutinous crew had thrown the blame on 
him for refusing to rescue sailors on a distressed vessel. He wrote 
to Samuel Roads, Jr., author of a History of Marblehead, "I 
am glad for the sake of truth and justice that the real facts are 
given in thy book. I certainly would not knowingly do injus- 
tice to any one, dead or living." 

• 3. Apuleius's Golden Ass. Apuleius (114-190 a.d.), an Afri- 
can by birth, wrote an allegorical romance in eleven books, with 
this title. From it we get the episode of Cupid and Psyche. 

4. One-eyed Calendar's horse of brass. See The Arabian 
Nights' Entertainment. 

6. Islam's prophet on Al-Borak. Al-Bordk was the animal 
which, according to the Koran, the angel Gabriel brought to 
convey Mahomet, the prophet of Islam, to the seventh heaven. 
It hacl the face of a man, the wings of an eagle, and spoke with 
a human voice. 

26. Bacchus was the Roman god of wine. 

30. The Maenads, a Greek form of the name given to the 
Bacchantes, women who were "worshippers" of Bacchus. 

35. Chaleur Bay is an inlet of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. 



272 NOTES 



TELLING THE BEES [1858] (Page 124) 

An old superstition runs to the effect that if a member of the 
family dies, and the bees are not told of the fact and their 
hives put into mourning, they will forsake the premises. Ob- 
servance of the curious superstition once existed in rural New- 
England. 

1. Here is the place. It is Whittier's own homestead that 
is described. 

THE SYCAMORES [1857] (Page 126) 

9. Celtic. The Irish are one of the Celtic peoples of Europe. 
Among them, also, are the Scotch, French, Italians, and Span- 
ish. The Germans, Swedish, Danish, and English are, generally 
speaking. Teutons. 

12. Amphion, according to the fable, built Thebes by the 
music of his lute. 

13. Hugh Tallant, an Irishman, was an early settler of Haver- 
hill, Mass., Whittier's early home. 

27-28. Cluny and Mear are the names of religious times. 

47. Yorkshire is a northern county of England. 

51. St. Keven, or St. Coemgen (498-618), was a saint of the 
early Christian Church in Ireland. His "behavior with the sack- 
cloth ladder attests the antiquity of the Hibernian tempera- 
ment. 

53. Tara was a great hall upon a hill in Meath, Ireland, where 
kings and clergy assembled for the discussion of public matters. 

111. Tadmor, a Syriac nanie for the ancient city of Palmyra 
in the Syrian desert. 

112. Marks is altered to " mocks" in the latest editions. 
121. Keezar. See .the poem, Cobbler Keezar's Vision. 

THE DOUBLE-HEADED SNAKE OF NEWBURY [1859] 
(Page 131) 

The legend of the double-headed snake is contained in that 
great repository of early New England lore and legend, Cotton 
Mather's Magnalia Christi Americana, the "Wonder-Book" 
mentioned in the poem. 

5. The Python was a huge serpent engendered in the mud of 



NOTES 273 

the Deluge, according to Greek mythology, and slam by Apollo. 

6. Deucalion was the Greek Noah. 

9. Newbury is a small town in Essex County, Mass. 

22. Cheops was the builder of the so-caUed Great Pyramid 
of Egypt. 

42. The Northman's Written Rock is a large boulder whereon 
still remain certain inscriptions asserted by some to have been 
carved there by Norsemen in their supposed colonization of 
New England in the tenth century. 

59. Common Pasture. The present day commons in many 
New England towns were formerljr free pasture land for the 
cattle of the village. Placed in the centre of the town, they 
occupied the position of greatest safety from the incursions of 
Indians. 

76. Cotton Mather (1663-1728) a famous preacher and writer, 
author of the Magnalia Christi Americana. 

THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY [1858] (Page 134) 

THE TRUCE OF PISCATAQUA [1860] (Page 138) 

"In the winter of 1675-1676, the Eastern Indians, who had 
been making war upon the New Hampshire settlements, were 
so reduced in numbers by fighting and famine that they agreed 
to a peace with Major Waldron at Dover, but the peace was 
broken in the fall of 1676. The famous chief, Squando, was the 
principal negotiator on the part of the savages. He had taken 
up the hatchet to revenge the brutal treatment of his child 
by drunken white sailors, which caused its death." (Author's 
note.) 

6. The Cocheco River is a small tributary of the Piscataqua 
River in New Hampshire. 

11. Piscataqua. This river forms part of the boundary be- 
tween New Hampshire and Maine, and enters the Atlantic at 
Portsmouth. 

43. Saco. This region is in York County, Maine. 

65. The totem of my child. Totems are objects of worship 
among savages. Sometimes they are animals, sometimes 
images. A person or a tribe chooses a totem because of some 
relationship conceived to exist naturally between the chooser 
and his totem. 



274 NOTES 

71. Manito. The Great Spirit, worshipped by the American 
Indians. 

104. Parted . . . like Egypt's wave. This refers to the 
passage of the children of Israel through the Red Sea. Exo- 
dus xiv. 

143. Wampum. Chains of certain kinds of shells were much 
prized by the Indians, among whom they were used in place of 
money. 

202. Painful minister. "Painful" is here used in its old 
sense of ''careful." 

MY PLAYMATE [1860] (Page 145) 

In a few reminiscent poems like this one, and Memories, 
one catches the echo of personal romance in Whittier's life. 

THE GIFT OF TRITEMIUS [1857] (Page 148) 

17. Tunis is the capital of the Barbary State of the same 
name on the coast of Africa, bordering on the Mediterranean 
Sea. 

THE PIPES AT LUCKNOW [1858] (Page 149) 

This poem is based on an historic incident of the great Sepoy 
Mutiny of 1857 in India. The isolated garrison at Lucknow, 
a large city in the province of Oude, was relieved by the heroic 
march of a small British army under Sir Henry Havelock. 

9. The Lowland reaper. The counties of southern Scotland 
are called the Lowlands, in contrast with the northern High- 
lands. 

12. The Scottish pipes are bagpipes, a peculiar wind-instru- 
ment for the production of music. 

13. Pibroch is the name of a kind of Scottish air, generally 
martial. By a common confusion, which even Lord Byron 
does not escape, the word is applied to the instrument upon 
which the air is played, i.e. the bagpipe. 

36. Sepoys were natives of Hindustan, employed by Great 
Britain as soldiers. 

46-47. Campbells and MacGregors were Scottish clans 
represented in the relief expedition. The usual uniform of the 



f 



NOTES 275 



Highland clans in Scotland is made of plaid, the design being 
characteristic of the clan. 

52. Goomtee. A river of Hindustan entering the Ganges 
sixteen miles below Benares. 

77. Gaelic is an old word sometimes used to describe the 
race and language of the Highland Scotch, and of the Irish as 
well. 

THE RED RIVER VOYAGEUR [1859] (Page 152) 

8. The wild Assiniboins are an Indian tribe living in 
Manitoba and the adjacent regions of Canada. 

24. St. Boniface is a town in Manitoba on the Red River, 
and is now a centre of Roman Catholic education. 

BARBARA FRIETCHIE [1863] (Page 154) 

The facts which underlie this poem have been the subject 
of much debate. It is clear that Whittier wrote the poem in 
I faith supposing that he had been correctly informed of the inci- 
ident. It is now agreed, however, that the real Barbara Friet- 
chie did not wave the Union flag at the Confederate troops of 
'"Stonewall" Jackson as they passed out of Frederick, Md., 
'on September 10, 1862, and that General Jackson did not himself 
I pass her house at all. But it is also agreed that Barbara Friet- 
j chie, then ninety-six years old, was a stanch Union sympathizer 
I and did freely express her patriotic sentiments during the 
stay of the Confederates in the town. Also, upon the same 
street, another woman, Mrs. Mary Quantrell, displayed at this 
time a Union flag to the Confederates, one of whom, tradition 
states, tried, contrary to orders, to take it from her. Finally, on 
(September 13 and 14, a portion of McClellan's army passed 
j through Frederick, and on one of these days the aged Barbara 
Frietchie came out upon her porch and waved a flag at the 
I passing soldiers. 

' 10. Lee. General Robert E. Lee, the commander-in-chief 
of the Confederate armies. 

1 24. "Stonewall" Jackson. General Thomas J. Jackson 
(1824-1863), one of the greatest of the Confederate command- 
ers, won the epithet, "Stonewall," at the battle of Manassas 
I Junction, 1861, by the firmness with which he held his posi- 
tion, and thereby turned defeat into victory. 



276 NOTES 



COBBLER KEEZAR'S VISION [1861] (Page 156) 

" Cobbler Keezar " was one of the early settlers of the valley 
of the Merrimac River, and a noted character in his time. 

19. The Brocken is the highest peak of the Hartz Mountains 
in Germany, about which cluster a vast number of myths and 
legends. 

84. Doctor Dee (1527-1608) was an English astrologer who 
possessed a magic crystal in which he professed to read the 
future. 

85. Agrippa. Henry Cornelius Agrippa (1486-1535) was 
an alchemist, i.e. one of the mediaeval chemists whose aim 
was the transmutation of metals into gold. 

89. The Minnesingers were minstrels who lived in Germany 
from about 1138 to 1294. The word means ''love-singers," 
and these minstrels were so called because their usual subject 
was love. 

139. Bingen is a city on the Rhine River in Germany. 

140. Frankfort-on-the-Main is one of the most important 
cities of Prussia. 

AMY WENTWORTH [1862] (Page 163) 

The name Wentworth was a conspicuous one in the history 
of the New England colonies. Benning Wentworth was a 
governor of New Hampshire, and his nephew, Sir John Went- 
worth, succeeded him in that office, both in the first half of the 
eighteenth century. 

29. Grim as Vernet's. Horace Vernet (1789-1863) was a 
French painter of much reputation for his treatment of military 
subjects. 

35. As Niirnberg sang while Wittenberg defied. These are 
the names of important German cities. 

36. Kranach painted by his Luther's side. Lucas von 
Kranach, or Cranoch (1472-1553), was a German painter and 
engraver, contemporary with Martin Luther (1483-1546), the 
great reformer. 

38. Marvell's music. Andrew Marvell (1621-1678) was a 
Puritan poet of high rank, the friend and contemporary of 
Milton. 



NOTES 277 

47. Fijian. The Fiji islanders of the South Seas were once 
renowned for cannibalism. 

THE COUNTESS [1863] (Page 169) 

This poem was dedicated by its author to Dr. Elias Weld, 
who is the old doctor in Snoiu-Bound. "He was," says Whit- 
tier, "the one cultivated man in the neighborhood. His 
small but well-chosen libraiy was placed at my disposal." 

"Count Francois de Vipart with his cousin Joseph Roch- 
ment de Poyere came to the United States in the early part of 
the present [nineteenth] century. They took up their residence 
at Rocks Village on the Merrimac, where they both married. 
The wife of Count Vipart was Mary Elliot, who, as my father 
remembered her, was a very lovely young girl." (Author's 
note.) She died within a year of her marriage and her hus- 
band returned to France. 

109. The Gascon land. Gascony was an old province in the 
southwest of France. 

156. Garonne. The Garonne River rises in the Pyrenees 
and flows in general northwestward into the Bay of Biscay. 

175. Gallic, i.e. French. The word is derived from the 
ancient name of France, Gaul. 

THE FROST SPIRIT [1830] (Page 175) 

This poem is an interesting experiment in an unusual metre. 
Written in 1830, it is one of Whittier's earlier poems on Nature. 
11. Mt. Hecla is an active volcano in Iceland. 

RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE [1847] (Page 176) 

John Randolph of Roanoke (1773-1833) was a highly eccen- 
tric but greatly gifted native of Virginia, conspicuous in the 
political Ufe of America during the earlier portion of the last 
century. He was at various times member of Congress and 
Senator from Virginia. Politically he was a firm believer in 
the states' rights doctrine. Though he was the owner of many 
slaves on his enormous estates, he foresaw the peril of the 
institution, and in his will, made in 1821, he gave his own slaves 
their freedom. 



278 NOTES 

39. Clio was one of the nine muses of the Greek mythology. 
Her province was History. 

61. The Neva is one of the largest rivers of Russia. St. 
Petersburg is situated upon it. Randolph visited Russia in 
1830 upon a special government mission and during the same 
absence from America spent nearly a year in Great Britain. 

105. Patrick Henry (1736-1799) the Virginia patriot whose 
speeches in connection with American independence are house- 
hold words in American homes. 

108. The Sage of Monticello was Thomas Jefferson (1743- 
1826), the third president of the United States. 

THE NORSEMEN [1841] (Page 180) 

1. Gift from the . . . Past. A few years before this poem 
was written a portion of a statue, rudely carved, had been found 
at Bradford on the Merrimac River. That it was left there by 
the Norsemen is highly conjectural, although it is generally ad- 
mitted that they visited and possibly established some settle- 
ment in America, several centuries before the era of Columbus. 

52. Of Thule's night. Thule was a name given to the most 
remote northern land known to the ancients. Pytheas, a Greek 
navigator, says it is "six days' sail from Britain." It may have 
been Iceland, or the Faroe Islands. Cf. William Black's novel, 
Ultima Thule, the scene of which lies in the Hebrides. 

55. Jutland is the northern part of the peninsula which 
embraces the continental part of Denmark. Lochlin was a 
Gaelic name for Scandinavia — though it generally refers to 
Denmark. 

70. To Saga's chant and Runic rhyme. The legends of the 
Norse mythology were called sagas. The early Norsemen had 
a peculiar alphabet, consisting of sixteen characters called 
runes, in which their earliest composition are written. 

71. Zetland is an old name for the Shetland Islands, north 
of Scotland. Scalds were the court poets and chroniclers of 
the ancient Scandinavians. 

74. Odin was chief of the Scandinavian gods, the god of vic- 
tory. 

77. The Gaels were the earliest historic settlers of the British 
Isles. They survive in the Irish, Scotch, and Welsh of 
to-day. 



NOTES 279 

78. The Franks were inhabitants of much of what to-day is 
called France. 

79. lona's sable-stoled Culdee. Christianity was introduced 
into Scotland from Ireland, in the fifth century, or earlier. 
The earliest Christian church in Scotland may have stood on 
lona, a small island on the west coast of Scotland. The heads 
of these early churches were called Culdees, or bishops. 

92. Berserker was the name of a mythological hero of Scandi- 
navia, who was so called because he went to war "bare of sark," 
or coat of mail. 

93. Valhalla was, in Scandinavian mythology, the place 
inhabited by the souls of heroes slain in battle. 

98. The Druids were the priests of an ancient religion whose 
rites were observed by various tribes in Britain, Gaul, and Ger- 
many. 

FORGIVENESS [1846] (Page 184) 

Notice how the movement of this poem is affected by the use, 
not very common, in Whittier, of "run-on" lines; i.e of lines 
whose units of grammatical phrase do not end with the line 
in which they begin, but are continued into the next. Compare 
lines 1 and 4 with lines 2 and 3. 



' WHAT THE VOICE SAID [1847] (Page 185) 

i 14. The Titans were giants, in the Greek mythology, sons of 
\ Heaven and Earth. 

\ 41. The Parsees are fire-worshippers, adherents of Zoroas- 
trianism, the ancient religion of Persia. 

43. The Tartars were Mongols of Tartary in Asia. 



1 EXTRACT FROM "A NEW ENGLAND LEGEND" [1833] 
1 

(Page 188) 

53. The charmed Ausonian shore is that of Italy; so named 
from Auson, the son of Ulysses. 



280 NOTES 

60. Albion, a poetic name for England. " Glammarye/' an 

old form of the word " glamour." 

61. In Melrose Abbey sleeping. Sir Walter Scott is buried 
in Melrose Abbey, in Melrose in southern Scotland. 

72. "Catechise," a colloquialism for the Shorter Catechism 
learning which was a common form of religious practice in 
New England. 

73. "Webster's Spelling-Book." Noah Webster's Spelling 
Book was studied in every New England school in Whittier's 
generation. 

HAMPTON BEACH [1843] (Page 190) 

This poem, written in 1843, should be read in connection 
M'ith the group of later poems entitled The Tent on the Beach 
(1867). With them it contains a clear expression of Whittier's 
love for the ocean shore. Certain of its passages are of remark- 
able beauty. Hampton Beach lies at the mouth of the Hamp- 
ton River near the southern extremity of the short stretch of 
sea-coast that New Hampshire posvsesses. 

As an early expression of Whittier's love of Nature, it may 
be compared with The Frost Spirit, and To A. K. 



THE HILL-TOP [1850] (Page 193) 

The localities mentioned in this poem are all in central New 
Hampshire. 

MEMORIES [1841] (Page 196) 

This poem possesses a romantic interest. Whittier never 
married, but it is supposed that this poem refers to a disap- 
pointed love of his young manhood. 



ICHABOD [1850] (Page 198) 

This remarkable expression of sorrowful indignation was 
called forth by the famous speech of Daniel Webster, on the 



NOTES 281 

7th of March, 1850. In that speech Webster proposed cer- 
tain compromises with the South as a means of settUng the 
slavery issue. Throughout New England the speech was re- 
garded as a sacrifice of principle by Webster, prompted by his 
ambition for the Presidency. Historians now generally vindi- 
cate the statesmanship of Webster's speech. That Whittier 
himself changed his opinion upon the matter may be seen by 
comparing this poem with The Lost Occasion. Ichabod, how- 
ever, is in the opinion of some critics Whittier' s most powerful 
poem. 

TO A. K. (AVIS KEENE) [1850] (Page 201) 

This exquisite poem is remarkable in two ways. As a poem 
purely upon Nature it is one of Whittier' s earliest, and, shall we 
not say, one of his very best. Moreover, it is one of Whittier' s 
few experiments in an irregular metre. His success is so great 
that one can but wish he had possessed a greater interest in the 
technical problems of his art. 

MOLOCH IN STATE STREET [1851] (Page 204) 

Moloch was a Phoenician god to whom sacrifices of children 
were made. 

9. The fiirst drawn blood of Freedom' s veins. Crispus Attucks, 
a. negro, was the first to fall by a British bullet in the days pre- 
ceding the War of the Revolution. He was killed in Boston 
while leading a mob against British soldiers in 1770. 

20, Sir Harry Vane (1612-1662) was a governor of the Colony 
of Massachusetts. 

23. Andros, Hutchinson. Sir Edmund Andros (1637-1714) 
and Thomas Hutchinson (1711-1780) were among the early 
colonial governors of Massachusetts. 

24. Gage. General Thomas Gage (1720?-1787) was com- 
mander of the British forces in Boston when the Revolution 
began. 

28. Tyrian. Tyre was a Phoenician seaport, famed for its 
purple dyes. 

65. Even now, the peal of bell. At the time when this poem 
was written, Charles Sumnor had just been elected to the United 
States Senate, holding professed anti-slavery principles. There 



282 NOTES 

had been a great effort to keep the slavery question out of 
politics. 

APRIL [1852] (Page 207) 

This poem rnay be studied as one of the earlier of Whittier's 
poems to be occupied exclusively with the description of Nature. 
Compare with The Frost Spirit, and To A. K., and Hampton 
Beach. 

27. Nature, like Lazarus. See John xi. 1-46. 

TO MY OLD SCHOOLMASTER [1851] (Page 209) 

"These lines were addressed to my worthy friend, Joshua 
Coffin, teacher, historian, antiquarian. He was one of the 
twelve persons who with William Lloyd Garrison formed the 
first anti-slavery society in New England." (Author's note.) 

41. Old Phaedrus' twofold gift. Phsedrus: a Latin writer 
of the Augustan, who translated and imitated the Fables of 
iEsop. 

43. Laughter and sagacity he counsels; i.e. gives instruction 
and pleasure at the same time. 

62. The wrinkled sibyl. Sibyls were women supposed to 
prophesy, under the inspiration of some Roman deity. 

66. Over Gibeon. See Joshua x. 1-1 4. 

82. Belzoni. Giovanni Belzoni (1778 ?-1823) was an Italian 
explorer of Egypt. 

97. Cavalier. The name frequently given to the adherents 
of Charles I in his struggle against Cromwell. 

126. Fire of Pentecost. See Acts ii. 1-4. 

173. After Sternhold's heart. Thomas Sternhold (d. 1549) 
was an English versifier of the Psalms. 

175. Oldbug. "Dr. Withington, author of The Puritan 
under the name of Jonathan Oldbug." (Author's note.) 

176. South. Robert South. 



BURNS [1854] (Page 215) 

In this poem Whitticr acknowledges his deep indebtedness 
to Burns, and tells how "the older poet awoke the younger." 



NOTES 283 

(See Introduction.) It is written in the ballad-metre that 
was a favorite with Burns. Robert Burns (1759-1796), the 
most popular of Scottish poets, hardly needs further intro- 
duction here. 

38. "The Twa Dogs" is the title of one of Burns' s poems. 

67-68. Craigieburn and Devon were favorite streams of 
Burns's. The Devon is a river in Perthshire. "Burn" means 
"small stream." 

71. The A}^ and Doon are streams of Ayrshire in south- 
western Scotland. 

79. The Bible at his cotter's hearth. See Burns's The Cotter's 
Saturday Night. 

103. The mournful Tuscan was Dante (1265-1321), the 
author of The Divine Comedy, one of the three greatest epics. 

116. His Highland Mary. See Burns's Highland Mary. 
Mary Morison, therein commemorated, who died when young, 
was an early love of Burns's. 

THE VOICES [1854] (Page 220) 

THE HERO [1853] (Page 223) 

The hero commemorated in this poem is Dr. Samuel Gridley 
Howe, husband of Julia Ward Howe, author of the Battle Hijmn 
of the Republic. As a young man he fought with the Greeks in 
their war for separation from Turkey. 

1. A knight like Bayard. The Chevalier Pierre du Terrail 
de Bayard (1475-1524) was famed throughout Europe as the 
most chivalrous knight of his time. 

6. Zutphen. Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586), an Enghsh poet, 
stands as the type of chivalry (in English history). He was 
killed in the battle of Zutphen, 1586. 

31. The far Cyllenian ranges. Mt. Cyllene is a famous 
mountain of Greece situated near the centre of the Pelopon- 
nesus. 

36. The Suliotes were inhabitants of the region of Suli, in 
southern Albania. 

45. The Albanians lived in Albania, a province in European 
Turkey, north of Greece, and bordering on the Adriatic and 
Ionian seas. 

53. Allah, the Mohammedan name for God. 



284 NOTES 

55. Thessaly is a district in northeastern Greece. 

72. The barricades of Seine. Howe after took part in the 
fighting in Paris in the Revolution of 1848. 

78. Cadmus was, according to legend, the inventor of the 
alphabet. 

86. Sir Lancelot and his peers. The knights of the Round 
Table in King Arthur's legendary court. See Tennyson's 
Idylls of the King. 

THE BAREFOOT BOY [1855] (Page 227) 

This deservedly popular poem is reminiscent of Whittier's 
own boyhood. 

63. Apples of Hesperides. "The Hesperides were the women 
v/ho guarded the golden apples which Earth gave to Here 
{Juno) at her marriage with Zeus {Jove) J* Brewer's Reader's 
Handbook. 

THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS [1854] (Page 228) 

Between 1855 and 1858 there was a desperate struggle be- 
tween the friends and the opponents of slavery to colonize the 
territory of Kansas, into which the institution of slavery had 
been admitted by act of Congress in 1854. Each party hoped 
to gain the control of the political administration of the terri- 
tory and thereby save the coming state for its principles. The 
conflict was so severe that in 1856 a state of civil war prevailed, 
and armed bands of emigrants were formed and sent into the 
territory by North and by South alike. Whittier's poem was 
a campaign song among the earliest of these emigrant parties 
from the North. 

SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT [1847] (Page 230) 

The passage from Richardson's Journal, containing the inci- 
dent upon which these haunting stanzas are based, is quoted 
by Whittier, viz. : — 

"Sehah, Oasis of Fezzan, 10th March, 1846. This evening 
the female slaves were unusually excited in singing, and I had 
the curiosity to ask my negro servant. Said, what they were 
singing about. As many of them were natives of his own coun- 



NOTES 285 

try, he had no difficulty in translating the Mandara or Bornou 
language. I had often asked the Moors to translate their songs 
for me, but got no satisfactory account from them. Said at 
first said, 'Oh, they sing of Rubee' (God). 'What do you 
mean ? ' I replied impatiently. * Oh, don't you know ? ' he con- 
tinued, 'they ask God to give them their Atka' (certificate 
of freedom). I inquired, ' Is that all ? ' Said: 'No; they say, 
"Where are we going? The world is' large. God! Where 
are we going? God!'" I inquired, 'What else?' Said: 
'They remember their country, Bornou, and say, " Bornou was 
a pleasant country, full of all good things; but this is a bad coun- 
try, and we are miserable!'" 'Do they say anything else?' 
Said: 'No; they repeat these words over and over again, and 
add, "O God! give us our Atka, and let us return again to our 
dear home." ' " 



THE LAST W^ALK IN AUTUMN [1857] (Page 233) 

The philosophy of content which finds expression in this poem 
is of a piece with that in Snow-Bo2ind. 

34. The white pagodas of the snow. Compare with the 
description of the well-curb in Snow-Bound. 

55. The Arno valley is that in which Florence stands, in 
northern Italy. 

56. The Alhambra is a Moorish palace of great architectural 
beauty in Seville, Spain. 

64. Minarets are slender, tapering towers on Mohammedan 
mosques, or religious temples. 

66. Pharpar. The Pharpar was a river of Damascus. Sec 
2 Kings v. 

69. Ind, i.e. India. 

71. Persian Hafiz, a renowned Persian (1300 ?-l 390-?). 

72. Rome's cathedral, i.e. St. Peter's. 
80. The Kosmos, i.e. the universe. 

93. Bacon. Sir Francis Bacon (1561-1626) was a great 
English philosopher, sometimes called the founder of modern 
experimental science. 

94. Pascal, Blaise Pascal (1623-1662), wa^ a great French 
philosopher and mathematician. 

105. Plato, who lived in the fourth and fifth centuries b.c, 



286 NOTES 

was one of the two greatest of Greek thinkers, Aristotle, his 
pupil, being the other. 

110. Poor Richard's Almanack, written and published by 
Benjamin Franklin, is still a classic in American literature. 

111. The Sufi's song, the Gentoo's dream. The Sufis were 
members of a sect of Persian Mohammedans. The Brahmins 
of ilindustan were sometimes called Gentoos. 

112. Menu' sage of thought. Menu was a Hindoo law-giver. 
117. The magic mat. The reference is to a familiar story in 

the Arabian Nights' Entertainment. 

120. Nubia . . . Phrygia. Nubia is a region in the Sudan, 
in eastern Africa. Phrygia was a province in ancient Asia 
Minor. 

121-125. And he, . . . the statesman, was Charles Sumner, 
Senator from Massachusetts, a warm friend of Whittier's. 

126. The Athenian archon. The archon was one of the chief 
civil and religious magistrates of Athens. 

127. Struck down. Sumner was brutally attacked in the 
Senate chamber at Washington by Preston Brooks, of South 
Carolina, and severely injured. 

148. The Cross without the Bear. The traveller south of the 
equator finds the Southern Cross to be the most conspicuous 
constellation of stars in his heaven. The constellation of the 
Great Bear, containing the "Big Dipper" is not then visible, 
being below the northern horizon. 

151. The Line, i.e. the equator. 

162. Gay Versailles or Windsor's halls. At Versailles was 
a palace of the French Emperors. Windsor Castle on the 
Thames River is a palace of the English royalty. 

166. Gothic groin. A peculiar angle made by the intersec- 
tion of curved surfaces in certain Gothic arches. For an illus- 
tration, see Webster's Dictionary. 

168. Milan, a city in northern Italy. 

179. Arcadian vales. Arcadia was the name of a region in 
central Greece. 

THE MAYFLOWERS [1856] (Page 242) 

The trailing arbutus, called sometimes the mayflower in 
New England, was the first flower that the early Pilgrims saw 
after the fearful winter of 1810. 



NOTES 287 



THE EVE OF ELECTION (Page 243) 

This poem commemorates the state election of 1858. 

55. The blood of Vane. Sir Henry Vane was beheaded two 
years after the Restoration of Charles II in 1660, because of 
his prominence in the government of Cromwell. 

60. Her Russell. Lord William Russell, an English patriot, 
was beheaded in 1683. 

MY PSALM [1859] (Page 247) 

THY WILL BE DONE [1861] (Page 249) 

This poem should be read in the light of its composition, 
at the outbreak of the Civil War in 1861, and also in the light 
of Whittier's peace-loving Quaker faith. 

THE BATTLE AUTUMN OF 1862 [1862] (Page 251) 

This finely courageous lyric was written during a period of the 
most desperate and uncertain warfare, the general results of 
which had been on the whole not unfavorable to the South. 
Among many severe battles the following stand out: Antietam, 
Corinth, Fredericksburg, and Stone River. 

f OUR RIVER [1861] (Page 252) 

This poem was written about the Merrimac River, always a 
favorite subject with Whittier. 

11. Brissot. Jean Pierre Brissot, a famous leader in the 
French Revolution visited America when a young man, and 
admired particularly the scenery of the Merrimac. 

21. Arno's banks. The Arno is a river of northern Italy. 

23. The Doon and Ayr. See page 283, line 71. 

31. Undine. The story of this water-sylph whose home 
was in river-beds is contained in De la Motte Fouqu^'s Undine. 

35. Dian. Diana was, in Grecian mythology, the virgin 
goddess of the hunt. 

39. The Naiads were, in the same mythology, water- 
nymphs. 



288 ■ NOTES 



LAUS DEO [1865] (Page 255) 

This song of praise and triumph marks the conclusion of 
the struggle against slavery. The passage by Congress of the 
constitutional amendment abohshing slavery took place on 
January 31, 1865, but it was not ratified by the required 
number of states till December 18 of the same year. The poem 
"wrote itself, or rather sang itself," he wrote to a friend, 
"while the bells rang" which announced the passage of the 
amendment. The poem was complete in the poet's mind before 
he wrote a line of it on paper. The reader should observe how 
full the poem is of biblical phraseology. 

27. Miriam was the sister of Moses. The expressions which 
follow are found in the song of Moses upon the escape of the 
Israelites through the Red Sea. Exodus xv. 1. 



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